


Scarab

by CatelynMay, Julia_Five_O_Clock, zaboraviti



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Ancient Egypt, Angst, Drama, F/M, Reincarnation, Romance, Soulmates, idk kinda backwards i guess, seriously so very AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 19:03:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 54,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12777477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatelynMay/pseuds/CatelynMay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julia_Five_O_Clock/pseuds/Julia_Five_O_Clock, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaboraviti/pseuds/zaboraviti
Summary: Tjati Mhotep is the pharaoh’s right hand man, his indispensable advisor, a refined aesthete and scholar. Ever since the heir to the throne of the Great Kingdom was born, his mission has been the upbringing and education of the future queen, young Princess Athiri. But the cruel, conniving gods have prepared a tortuous trial for Mhotep and the princess, a trial that will take them through eternity.





	1. Charmer

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Скарабей](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/368097) by Catelyn M, Julia Five O'Clock. 



> A fantasy set in Ancient Egypt, so it's pretty far removed from canon.
> 
> Translator's note: All end of chapter notes on Ancient Egypt are shamelessly borrowed from Wikipedia - i didn't want you to have to google but i'm way too lazy to put the definitions in my own words.

© the author herself, [Catelyn May](https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100016771998221)

and here's a trailer from the author

 

**Chapter 1. Charmer**

Golden gleams of the sun caressed the luxurious chamber of the majestic palace, their reflections splashing in the exquisite ornaments placed along the walls, dancing across the azure mosaic of the great royal bathhouse in the middle. The gigantic columns safely upholding the dome were elaborately decorated with beautiful delicate lotuses entwined around these stone titans in a very lifelike manner.

Thousands more incredible drawings ran along the walls, as if narrating their ancient story. Broad-shouldered horsemen steering their chariots into the crowds of distraught, deliberately diminutive foes, beautiful dancing maidens with big shining black lined eyes. Hunting scenes painted so vividly that it seemed that if you held out your hand, a real live bird would fly up from the thick overgrowth of reeds and the boat would take off from the shore.

Unmistakably as ever, Mhotep found her carelessly contemplating these elaborate images from her hiding place behind the chest of priceless sandalwood. Her big, dark opal eyes stared at him with defiance and curiosity. Servants were run off their feet after looking for the little princess for over an hour, all maids were whipped mercilessly, a few slaves were about to lose their heads.

He was sent for immediately but he was too far away from the palace, busy with the construction of the new irrigation canal that would make their lands even more fertile.

Carefully, Mhotep came closer to the hiding place behind the wooden chest and knelt down, bowing low to his young mistress. She put a finger to her lips, making it clear that she had no intention to abandon her game.

“O mysterious spirit,” he uttered earnestly, playing along, “have you seen our little beautiful princess who disappeared from the palace today?”

Mhotep saw a most glorious smile spread across the mischievous face.

“No, we have not seen any princesses! Go away now, traveler, lest our wrath finds you!” she tried to sound menacing but did not succeed much.

The vizier made a frightened face, arching his thick eyebrows.

“Well, in that case, it pains me to say that she will miss a performance by a magician from Meir. She will not see the wondrous birds that I have brought especially for her either.”

He did not have to wait long.

“I think she is to arrive any minute now,” with a sly smile, Athiri flitted out of her hiding place to shower Mhotep with impatient questions. What was the long-awaited magician to demonstrate them? When would she see the birds? Would he, for a hundredth time, tell her stories of the murals in her palace?

Mhotep had always been there, for as long as she could remember, her father’s faithful servant, indispensable in all matters of life, both in the palace and beyond its walls. Her mentor and future advisor, he was more of a father to her than the one who had begotten her, whom she only saw at feasts and during various festivities and entertainments at court, a lardy figure bloated by exorbitant gluttony and sedentary life in the splendor of royal apartments.

The princess’s return to her part of the palace elated her maids and tutors and governesses who had already resigned themselves to parting with their lives. The august child could not be left unattended for a single minute, but despite the meticulous supervision, Athiri still managed to escape the watchful eyes, taking routes she alone knew.

Wherever she went, she was followed by Djer, the slick and graceful palace cat, who never gave away his mistress, hiding with her in the most impossible nooks of the enormous ancient structure.

In the evenings, the pharaoh always arranged magnificent receptions for statesmen and dignitaries, with jugglers, acrobats and magicians competing in their art, with old legends and myths reimagined on stage with genuine blood flowing. Nobody was bothered that the actors playing victims to the gods’ punishment or defeated foes died a dreadful painful death. Such were the ways of the time. An ordinary man’s life was no more than a grain of sand, a speck of dust on the palms of eternity — the most devoutly worshipped being of all.

Athiri sat comfortably on the soft gold-embroidered cushions by her father’s throne. As always, Mhotep was at her side, never failing to amuse and entertain his little mistress.

And today was no exception. A glorious performance awaited her, and the girl fidgeted on her cushions in impatient anticipation, twisting and pulling the ears of a very displeased Djer, whose attempts to get away did not succeed.

Looking at them, Mhotep could not help smiling. He had no family, no children of his own, they had moved to the Duat[0] a long time ago. Now he lived for raising the young princess, who grew more inquisitive, more intelligent by day, quick to learn everything he tried to teach her. The pharaoh was not a young man, and the way he lived did not promise a long life. The sallow skin of his chubby cheeks, the dull pupils of his kohl-lined eyes and his swollen body suggested an old agonizing disease.

Who knows, perhaps in only a few years, Athiri would have to take a different name and become the ruler of the great kingdom and pick a suitable husband. It was for this reason that Mhotep tried his best to explain, as clearly as possible, all the intricacies of government structure to her, to impart to her the understanding of laws and diplomatic tricks, without which she could not cement her dominance in the future. He would also give her a tiniest drop of poison mixed with her favorite sweets every day, to get her body used to it, to endure it. For there was no shortage of those who wished to sit on the pharaoh’s throne. It was beyond Mhotep’s power to anticipate all schemes and designs of her enemies and he chose to be prepared for anything.

Finally, several lit torches illuminated the stage; the curious audience surged forward, growling in content.

The magician from Meir looked very thin, even haggard, his head crowned by a shaggy mane of hair, a tanged beard nearly reaching his waist. Mad fiery eyes rolling wildly in their sockets gave him a mysterious look; the slender gnarled fingers holding a flute that seemed to have appeared out of thin air moved in entrancing fluid motions.

Without anybody noticing, a big wicker basket emerged in front of the magician — as if a spellbound spirit lived in it, hissing harshly and rocking its almost weightless prison.

Suddenly, the flute let out a soft entrancing sound, flooding the air that was taut with tension. The lid of the basket was slowly lifting, and the awestruck audience saw the head of a gigantic cobra that seemed to be rising up from under the ground, its forked tongue flickering hungrily. Athiri had seen venomous snakes many times but never anything like this! As though the serpent Apophis himself came to devour the Great Sun.

However, the monster that looked like it had crawled from the world beyond the grave was swinging rhythmically in time to the tune, obedient to its master’s will. Once the enormous body of the snake was out of the basket, sparkling golden in the quavering torch light, the charmer changed the tune, making his cobra twist in a new enchanted dance.

Athiri could not take her eyes off the sight. She imagined herself sitting in Ra’s boat approaching Osiris’s palace. The faithful Djer flattened his ears warily and stiffened at the feet of his little mistress like an onyx statue.

Mhotep was pleased. A new entertainment, an exotic beast or an elegant precious trinket — anything to make her smile, to make her laugh. He needed nothing else to feel happiness flood his heart with warmth, healing the wounds inflicted by fate. The vizier never stopped wondering at this coincidence: Isis was the goddess of fate, and Athiri was one of her names. Could it be? The punishing fate and the reviving fate merged in a single life. But that life was but a brief moment, elusive and fine like wings of a moth, on the edge of the immense eternity.

The charmer kept playing his dazzling tune. The snake seemed enraptured by the captivating sounds pouring out of the flute, but suddenly something changed. A blazing lightning struck a fiery circle, and the gigantic cobra opened its hood and darted to the throne as dignitaries screamed in wild panic. The yellow eyes of the killer beast were devouring the small figure sat next to the pharaoh. Athiri let out a cry of despair, Djer hissed loudly, preparing to leap. The guards froze, hands uselessly clutching their khopeshes[1], hesitating to approach the cobra that hovered before the princess. The snake could attack her any second.

Mhotep was no longer Mhotep — he turned into a taut bowstring and a precisely calibrated moment later, his arrow-quick hands squeezed the snake’s throat. Throwing the cobra aside, he let the royal guards handle it. When the monster was finished, the vizier walked slowly to the charmer who had dropped on his knees, shivering from head to toe.

“There is no forgiveness for you! Pray to your gods, magician from Meir,” he announced calmly his sovereign’s sentence.

“O merciful noble lord! I wished no ill to the princess. This happened because of the secret power dwelling inside her, and she shall know it soon, with your help, o Great Vizier. Let me go, and I promise that you shall become a powerful ruler and take the one that is already in your heart as your wife!” the magician groveled, growing bolder now that their conversation could not be heard by anyone else.

The Nile green eyes flared with fury that washed over Mhotep’s soul.

“How dare you, pitiful creature of darkness, speak of these things! To me, Athiri is like a daughter whom I educate and protect! Since you have refused an easy death, you will now face the royal executioners!”

Before Mhotep could step back, the charmer grasped the edge of his long shendyt[2] and hissed out his last words, “You will regret this day, Vizier. You will regret this day — not only in this life, but every time you are reborn in another. Your torment will be much more painful than mine. Only my body will be tortured today, not my soul. But you, like the sacred scarab that rolls the sun across the sky[3], you will walk blindly the same path again and again, from birth to death, circle by circle, circle by circle, circle by circle…” he repeated it again and again, roaring with mocking laughter.

Mhotep pushed the charmer hard, sending him into the guards’ waiting arms. The madman’s laughter and the dreadful words of his curse kept ringing in his ears.

 

 

[0] Duat was the realm of the dead in ancient Egyptian mythology

[1] Khopesh is an Egyptian sickle-sword

[2] Shendyt is a kilt-like garment worn in Ancient Egypt

[3] To the Ancient Egyptians, the scarab was a symbol of Khepri, the early morning manifestation of the sun god Ra, from an analogy between the beetle’s behavior of rolling a ball of dung across the ground and Khepri’s task of rolling the sun across the sky. 


	2. Temptation

__

_[© Catelyn May](https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100016771998221) _

 

 _Sweet of love is the daughter of the King!_  
_Black are her tresses as the blackness of the night,_  
_Black as the wine-grapes are the clusters of her hair,_  
_The hearts of the women turn towards her with delight,_  
_Gazing on her beauty with which none can compare…_

 _Sweet of love is the daughter of the King!_  
_Fair are her arms in the softly swaying dance,_  
_Fairer by far is her bosom's rounded swell!_  
_The hearts of the men are as water at her glance,_  
_Fairer is her beauty than mortal tongue can tell…_ [1]

 

The royal bark slowly ploughed the calm and smooth expanse of the great river. Comfortable soft seats under a lush canopy accommodated a dozen dignitaries, disciplined slaves scurrying about like shadows, trying to please all the guests of the floating house.

Wild nature thrived on the banks. The thickets of reed and papyrus were bustling with life. Flocks of fussy ibises shot out wailing, disturbed by the splashes of the oars that carried the massive boat, the unbidden guest that intruded into their world.

Athiri stared at all that splendor with unadulterated admiration, sitting nearly at the very stern, making her maids and governesses’ blood run cold. Djer excitedly sniffed the air, straining his graceful body, flexing the muscles under the dark satin coat, about to leap every time another startled bird sprung up from its green refuge.  

From time to time, the girl would bend over the side of the bark, peering into the muddle water of the Nile, trying to catch the movement of its undercurrents, to see the backs of the frolicking fish and water serpents. In the past four years, Athiri had become all grown up, turning day by day into a beautiful young maiden that took men and women’s breath away. Silky olive skin, big bright eyes the color of a rare black pearl, slender delicate figure, as if perfectly sculpted by a master shabti-maker[2].

She had forgone the rich sumptuous court attire in favor of a light white kalasiris[3] that did little to hide her enthralling nudity from prying eyes. A few golden bangles around the narrow wrists and ankles were the only pieces of jewelry she had allowed to put on herself. The gaze of the young princess shone with the power over everything around her, and she knew it well. Nobody was to look directly at Athiri on pain of death. Nobody except the one she always wanted to see beside her.

Mhotep felt like a falcon tied to a leash wrapped around the fingers of the royal huntress. He had been doing his best all day to avoid looking at his mistress, burying his gaze in the depth of green gray waters. Yet, despite his efforts, the wise weather-beaten vizier was powerless to subdue the fierce pounding of his heart that threatened to break through his magnificent smooth golden breastplate.

Why was he so affected by her voice, young and clear, ringing like the bell on Djer’s neck. Why would his treacherous gaze sweep over the delicate curves hardly concealed by the cobweb-like fine cotton, taking his breath away, as if he were a boy who came to know the feminine power over him for the first time in his life?

He tried to clear his thoughts, he laughed it off when she accused him of excessive earnestness, reminding him that their trip beyond the palace walls was an adventure to her, an opportunity to take a break from the long court gatherings, from the monotony of their lazy pampered existence. Mhotep had always known how harmful this way of living was: all it took was one look at the sickly sallow body of the ruler and at his inner circle steeped in idleness, libation and lust. He did his best to shield his young mistress from this dark side of the court life. As the pharaoh’s feasts turned into repulsive orgies and theater became too bloody, he would have Athiri taken to her rooms. A different world was set up there to raise a sophisticated refined spirit.

The stale air heavy with incense could not reach this world. The light, spacious and tastefully furnished rooms opening into the courtyard with beautiful fragrant flowerbeds were filled with beautiful works of art and the warble of rare birds from foreign shores. There was even a library in this part of the palace — Mhotep wanted Athiri to be able to read any roll herself, unaided by a scribe. As for Athiri, she loved to make elaborate drawings on papyrus sheets, trying to imitate the scenes depicted on the murals.

The princess was a good swimmer and she spent a lot of time frolicking in the water in the large bathhouse that Mhotep had had expanded and decorated by the kingdom’s craftiest masters. He taught Athiri archery and dagger fighting. Her governesses gasped and sobbed, watching the blatantly unroyal education, sometimes reporting those _horrors_ to the pharaoh. The latter, however, did not care about his daughter at all. He was also used to trusting his vizier in all matters — after all, Mhotep had never let him down,.

Mhotep tried and usually managed to keep everything in check — a habit he had perfected over many years. But on that day, in the bark gliding between the banks of the Nile, he could hardly remain calm and unperturbed. The young princess was too beautiful in this morning hour, wrapped in the delicate sunlight that made the irises of her eyes sparkle like opals and danced on the smooth gold of her skin accentuated by her white kalasiris.

Staying so close to her now was almost unbearable, every graceful movement of the lithe young body, every flicker of a hand resounding in him like blasts of thunder, dissecting him and revealing the sensations that contradicted everything he had used to feel looking at his little mistress. But there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide in that floating prison, and his torment continued.

Suddenly he realized, as if shaking a haze off his mind, that the girl who had been growing up right before his eyes, the girl he had been raising and protecting like a rare delicate flower, was no longer a child. Being a refined aesthete, he could not help seeing her new essence rising up in front of him in all its fatal might, inviting like the shade of a garden to a weary traveler, sweet like the nectar of the most intoxicating fruit, stinging like the hottest spice, soft like wild honey.

And a memory flashed in Mhotep’s mind; he remembered the sorcerer, the one he had sentenced to death, uttering the dark curse. _Your torment will be much more painful than mine!_ So _this_ was what that evil spirit disguised as a man had meant! _This_ was the torment to twist his bones with the skill of an executioner!

“What are you thinking of, Mhotep? Don’t you like our ride? You said yourself that you were sick of the stuffy palace,” pouted the princess, looking him straight in the eye.

“I think of the transience of time and of our powerlessness before it, my lady,” said the vizier with a rueful smile.

The valley of the royal tombs met them with solemn silence of eternity frozen among the majestic pyramids, under the watchful eye of the sphinx. The pharaoh wanted to personally examine the place where his Ka[4] was to live until the end of time.

Mhotep helped the princes out of the palanquin after their long journey on land, and in a small procession, accompanied by priests, they walked through a narrow long passage into the burial chamber, where everything was prepared for the journey into eternity.

The walls were covered with drawings illustrating stories from the Book of the Dead. There was Ra with a bright sun disc on his head, crossing the sky in his solar bark, collecting the souls of the dead, there he was as a ginger cat, fighting the frightful serpent Apophis[5]; there was Osiris’s trial, with a human heart on the scales. And there was the ubiquitous scarab, the symbol of rebirth into new life. Athiri gasped in admiration — she was partial to the art of mural painting and eyed the fascinating images, forgetting to breathe, like a curious child. The vizier watched her silently, marveling at the flawless taste of his ward who appreciated the painstaking labor of the master — he, Mhotep, had spared no effort in choosing the best there was.

The pharaoh was pleased with the murals, and with the sarcophagus of polished pink granite that was to contain several more sarcophagi, the last of which would be made of solid gold. He also studied closely the canopic jars that would accommodate his internal organs after the embalming and asked the priests about the minutest details of his funeral. Eventually, he sighed contentedly and complimented Mhotep, who had been working on the design and supervising all the work in the tomb.

The procession had walked out of the burial chamber, but the princess lingered, still mesmerized by the mural paintings.

“Tell me, Mhotep, will my tomb be as beautiful?”

“Oh, my lady, it will be a wonder of wonders, this I swear to you! But your place is not in this darkness yet, you must admire the sun and graceful lotuses, listen to birds warble and enjoy life. We ought to hurry before they lose us.”

“I can be ready for the eternity, if an advisor as wise and kind as you, Mhotep, will be with me there,” she said, her eyes fixed on her vizier. The vast darkness dispelled only by the torches hid her flushed cheeks.

On the way back, the royal procession stopped at one of the villas owned by Mhotep. The pharaoh was unwell and everybody needed some rest.

At the villa, the guests found a warmest welcome; fine dishes and wines from the far ends of the country awaited them, beautiful girls — dancers and acrobats — demonstrating their art to the sound of flutes and tambourines.

After the feast, most fell asleep right in the dining hall, some retired to their rooms.

Finally alone, Mhotep could relax after a hard day. Squinting with pleasure, he sank into the cool water of the small round pool, having dismissed the two concubines who had been waiting for his attentions all day in vain. The vizier’s soul was still in the grip of the magical, dangerous discovery of that morning and he could hardly think of anything else.

Suddenly, his ear caught the unmistakable melodic chime of a small golden bell. That was Djer who followed his mistress wherever she went, which meant that the princess was close by. She must have escaped her harassed watchers again, sneaking softly along the passageways in the dark, like Bast[6] herself.      

Before he could turn and see her, Athiri slid into the water with catlike grace behind him, laughing at her mischief.

“I have never seen you bathe before, Mhotep!” she said, seeing his dismay but eyeing his bare chest and arms above the water with childish artlessness.

“My lady! You should be resting at this hour of night! Should somebody see us, they could think- I will lose my head,” he lied, embarrassed, knowing well that the feast had been a success and all dignitaries were snoring peacefully in their bed, and slave servants were no more than silent shadows.

“What will they think, tell me, Vizier?!” It was as if she was testing him, pretending not to comprehend his words, pushing on ruthlessly.

“This is not a time for playing, my lady, your maids must be looking for you and they will come here to report to me,” Mhotep made another attempt to reason with the princess and then he realized what had brought on this reckless courage. The young Athiri had had too much wine to drink at the feast — he had overlooked that.

She laughed joyfully again and then, her expression suddenly serious, she looked into his eyes and pressed the palm of her hand to his broad chest. He caught her hand and drew it away as if it were a deadly sword blade, and immediately got out of the pool, leaving the princess alone.

Athiri knew that she had somehow upset her mentor but she hardly realized the true meaning of what had happened. She was only a spoiled child imbued with absolute divine power and raised watching the loose morals of the royal palace.

Mhotep tied his shendyt and saw that she had gotten out of the water as well. And her dress was completely wet, clinging to the perfect sculpted body, its fabric now nothing but a transparent haze that left nothing to imagination.

She threw her arms up and the wet piece of cloth fell to her feet, leaving only golden bands of the bracelets on the sun-kissed arms. Mhotep looked away, as if he could turn into ashes.

Free and unselfconscious in her nudity, she had no idea what she was doing to her poor vizier. Since she was an infant, there had been nothing forbidden to her. The princess was surrounded by dispassionate eunuchs almost at all times, and it probably did not occur to her that her mentor was a man who struggled to resist her young magnetic beauty.

Athiri lied down on the golden sofa, cuddling Djer who had jumped on the cushions after her. The princess gave a soft sweet yawn, drifting off to sleep. Mhotep hastily covered her with a thin linen blanket.

 

 

[1] Translation by Arthur Weigall.

[2] Shabti (or ushabti) was a funerary figurine placed in tombs among the grave goods and were intended to act as servants or minions for the deceased, should they be called upon to do manual labor in the afterlife.

[3] Kalasiris was a simple sheath dress usually worn by women.

[4] Ka was the Egyptian concept of vital essence — the spirit or soul.

[5] Apophis, or Apep, was the ancient Egyptian deity who embodied chaos. He appears in art as a giant serpent.

[6] Bast, or Bastet, was the Ancient Egyptian goddess of the home, domesticity, women's secrets, cats, fertility, and childbirth.


	3. Labyrinths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... remember the Brocket Hall scene? i mean THE Brocket Hall scene in the first season. what am i saying, of course you do. i bet you still tear up thinking about it.  
> surely, you'll say, it's freakin Ancient Egypt, there's no Brocket Hall there. that's right. forget the green coat. forget the rooks. remember the pain.

__

_[© Catelyn May](https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100016771998221) _

 

 _Darling, you only, there is no duplicate,_  
_More lovely than all other womanhood,_  
_luminous, perfect,_  
_A star coming over the sky-line at new year…_ [1]

 

The great Ra was finishing his daily journey, descending back into the realm of the dead to be born again in the morning in blinding radiance and spill his grace across the land. The princess slumbered under the watchful eye of her faithful vizier, occasionally muttering in her sleep. The graceful beast cuddled against her side curled into a sleek ball of silk, her slender fingers resting on the soft black coat.

Mhotep watched the beautiful serene face of his sweet Athiri, trying not to think about the change in her. “Perhaps this is only wine, perhaps this is only another entertaining game invented by her bored mind,” he reassured himself. Her behavior meant that natural desires, old as time itself, were waking in her but she had yet to become fully aware of them.

Mhotep had always seen Athiri as his daughter, not once allowing himself to think that she would ever become anything else to him. For seventeen springs, he had been by her side, watching her grow, but today was the first time he saw her in a different light, and he was ashamed of his feelings. No, this is but a spell put on him by Hathor herself to test his devotion to his young mistress. He had to remain what he had always been to her, what he was meant to be — her advisor, her teacher, her protector and nothing else. To serve her, to be there when she needed him, to anticipate her desires.

He will ask the pharaoh to gather sons of the most eminent nomarchs[2] in the palace. She needs a strong young husband to protect her for many years after her father and Mhotep himself have gone down to the Duat. Mhotep hoped that the ruler would heed his loyal tjati’s[3] advice, as he had always done.

The vizier’s speculations were interrupted by the loud thump of running feet, and a minute later, one of the princess’s nurses stormed into his apartments that was flooded with the golden glow of twilight. The woman was huffing and panting — her corpulent constitution did not make the distance she had covered easy on her.

Mhotep put a finger to his lips, signaling that she must not break the silence shrouding their mistress’s slumber.

A widest grin spread across the portly nurse’s face; their willful princess often indulged in such vagaries. Servants could search the twisted maze of the enormous royal palace all day long, looking for the princess, only to find her sleeping peacefully in some quiet nook. Her being here in his apartments was not odd. Athiri loved listening to him and did so for hours as he told her tales and legends during his stays at the palace. There was no reason to worry now — the vizier, as usual, had been the first to find their august ward, and all they had to do now was to carry her to her own apartments, carefully, lest they disturb the sleep of the Godlike.

In the morning, Mhotep sent two maids to tend to the princess; the women bathed her and anointed her with aromatic ointments that eased her headache — the aftereffect of the last night’s immoderation. Athiri swore off drinking undiluted wine in the future; Mhotep had warned her many times about the consequences of reckless libation. Now she knew it from her own experience.

 

***

The pharaoh was still unwell. His personal physician who had arrived from the capital agreed with Mhotep and warned the Godlike against setting off in such heat. The royal entourage was to stay for another week until the great ruler recovered enough to be able to continue the trip. Athiri did not wish to return to the capital without her father and stayed to enjoy Mhotep’s hospitality.

Now the vizier could show the princess his magnificent garden blossoming with fragrant jasmine and his pond full of fanciful bright-colored fishes and tell her about his astronomical observations. But Mhotep could not stop thinking of her recent behavior. He felt as if someone was trying to deprive him of his most precious possession.

When Athiri appeared on his doorstep, Mhotep was sorting the dispatches from the remote nomes. He turned around, realizing that he could not think about her playful actions without excitement. But as he beheld her carefree, childlike bright smile, he had to convince himself that his suspicions were no more than a mirage, a flight of his imagination. Everything would be as it had used to be between him and his little Athiri, he thought. The rest was only a fleeting delusion.

“Is it true, that you can read the Labyrinths of Osiris, Vizier Mhotep?” she asked suddenly, giving him a searching look. Oh, he knew this sly squint — he knew her every sweet artless gesture.

Mhotep froze with an armful of scrolls, unsure of his answer. He had kept this dark knowledge from everyone, even from her — especially from her. Somebody from his household or one of his enemies’ spies must have let it slip.

“The Labyrinths of Osiris are a dangerous pursuit, my lady, and they do not reveal their secrets to everyone. You must not test them,” he said, feeling blood turning to ice in his veins.

“But I want to know my fate, Mhotep. Show it to me!” Athiri insisted. Her excited face flushed by impatience, her hand that had somehow slipped into his palm rendered him incapable of resistance; if the princess wanted anything, he could never say no.

The vizier led her to a small, enclosed chamber in the farthest part of his apartments; light could only seep inside through a tiny window in the elaborately painted dome-shaped ceiling. The fresco was a star map. Djer slipped inside softly, following his young mistress, and sat beside her.

Mhotep showed Athiri the constellations, telling her their names; he told her of the laws that moved the celestial bodies and of the connection that nature had established between the earth and the sky.

Finally, they sat on a plain soft mat spread on the floor. Mhotep emptied many-colored stone disks out of a small pouch. The vizier warned her that she had to stay very quiet, so as not to disturb his journey, and keep her thoughts on the question, to which she wanted an answer.

He closed his eyes, his long fingers playing with the smooth disks, as if caressing them, his thin lips whispering ancient incantations. It seemed to Athiri as if only Mhotep’s body remained in the room, while his essence was somewhere far away, at a place that was dangerous to a mere mortal. The princess sat breathless; she watched her vizier’s movements closely at first but soon she realized that she was following him, leaving her body.

Now he looks back, perplexed, the sudden realization dawning on him. She is frightened but she presses on, catching up with her guide.

They walk into the glittering labyrinths together, hand in hand, as if afraid of losing one another, watching the visions of the future fly by. Athiri sees Mhotep as though she had never seen him before. It is he but in different disguises — as though someone is playing with them, sending strange visions. Unfamiliar faces, unfamiliar voices, saying words in unknown languages, words that shoot through her soul like a hurricane. But Athiri feels no fear, only the warmth of his hand clasping hers. Everything around her is fusing into a single solid circle, and past, present and future are now one. Inseparable.

Suddenly, an astounding vision is rising in front of her: she and Mhotep, striding side by side, dignified and proud, anointed with power, as a royal couple. She sees herself on the throne, the crook and flail in her hands. But as she looks back, she beholds the hateful yellow eyes of a gigantic serpent that sways rhythmically in time with the flute’s tune, its hood inflated, its venomous jaws gaping menacingly. She screams, calling to the gods for help.

The visions disappear at that very instant and Athiri is falling, rapidly and limply, into a pitch-black abyss.

It was Mhotep’s voice, hoarse with agitation and worry, that brought her back to the reality. He held her in his arms, looking intently into the dead mask that was her face. Her eyelids finally fluttered and she took a deep breath, coming back from the faraway realms… Her gift was a divine revelation to him. The little princess possessed an uncanny power capable of subduing body and soul to the will of the mind.

“My lady, I have told you that the Labyrinths of Osiris are dangerous. But I did not know that you have power over them. This is a wonder the like of which I have never seen.”

“Mhotep! Oh, Mhotep! I was so frightened!” the princess sobbed, curled up in his arms. And he could do nothing, only calm her shaking shoulders with his warmth.

Then terrible dizziness and nausea came over her. Mhotep explained that it always happened when one experienced the Labyrinths, marveling to himself at her sudden powers and her courage. He cautioned her against using the secret knowledge too often — every contact with it took away from one’s life.

“Do you look into them often yourself?” asked Athiri, when she recovered a little, thanks to the potion he had given her. He had to use some too, and he took a sip from the same cup to chase away the shadowy mirage of the Labyrinths.

“It depends only on how strong my need of their advice is, my lady.”

“Does it mean that I have seen my future?” the princess looked up at him in alarm, still pressing against him like a frightened kitten.

“The Labyrinths can show one’s future incarnations,” answered Mhotep.

Athiri remained too quiet and solemn, knitting her thick dark brows that never needed kohl. Suddenly, she looked up at him and asked, “What if I see something bad? Could I stop it from happening?”

“No, my lady, one can only look into the Labyrinths, lifting the veil of the future, but no one can change it, however hard one may try.”

Athiri looked both sad and happy, hesitant to speak her mind. Finally, after some thinking, she said, “I saw myself on the Egyptian throne, with the symbols of royal power in my hands. And you sat on the other throne next to me — you were my king, Mhotep!”

The vision was but a brief flash in their mystical journey, and in his heart of hearts, the vizier hoped that Athiri’s mind would not preserve even a small fraction of the mirages that the Labyrinths of Osiris had revealed them. He was happy to see her as the queen, powerful, strong and wise, the queen he had been making of her all those years. But never, even in his most secret thoughts, had he tried on a crown of his own. The Labyrinths could not lie, and yet he did not know how to take their revelation.

Shaking off his brief stupor, Mhotep said, his voice trembling anxiously, “If it is so, you should be joyful, my lady, for this is a marvelous vision! You will become the greatest queen this land has ever known, your name shall be remembered in the centuries to come. And I shall always be by your side, for as long as you need me. I love you as one can only love one’s own child. And you need somebody who will love you in a different way.” For the first time, he sounded so unconvincing to her.

“But you are not my father, Mhotep!” she spat suddenly, enraged. The princess’s eyes flashed like coals in a fire stricken by a gust of wind, and Mhotep fell silent.

“No, I am not, but I still can never be your husband, my lady. I should be preparing to enter eternity, while you are a star rising on the horizon as the year is born. Your power needs to lean on a strong shoulder, your king has to be young and strong and capable of protecting you and consolidating the throne with heirs.” Mhotep did his best to put into his words all the power of persuasion that he had been perfecting for many years.

Athiri listened intently, not once taking her eyes off her vizier.

“Don’t say that, you are not old, Tjati Mhotep!” she said stubbornly.

The vizier let out a helpless sigh, pausing for a while — as he always did when the princess’s behavior was too demanding and capricious, when she was unable to cope with her feelings. He asked for permission and carried Athiri, who was still weak from the shock, out of the enclosed chamber and into the terrace, where he laid her on the bed among soft cushions under the gilded canopy. Two dark-skinned Nubian maids instantly appeared beside the august guest, precious fans in their hands.

“Listen to me, my lady. I will tell you a story,” Mhotep started, after he had made sure that the princess breathed easily and the color was coming back to her beautiful face.

“Is it a fairytale or a true story?” Athiri brightened up.

“No one knows it now, it was so long ago… This is a story about a young man. His father was a court physician and knew ancient magic; he loved his trade and taught his son. The young man grew up clever and skillful, and his achievements astonished his father. But one day, the insidious Seth sent a terrible disease on the royal palace. The king’s wives and children were dying one after another — the physician could not save them despite all his efforts. And the Godlike showed his wrath; he ordered to execute the physician and the physician’s family. The son survived by a miracle. A nobleman, whom the young man’s father had once cured from a dreadful wound, hid him in his house, risking his own life. Soon the pharaoh himself, having deprived himself of his talented physician, fell ill and passed away. The ruthless Seth reaped the rich harvest of deaths and returned to his black desert, and no one thought about the physician’s son for many years.

“The young man stayed at the nobleman’s home; he lived there, applying all the knowledge that his father had passed on to him, keeping disease and pestilence away from his benefactor’s doorstep. The nobleman made the physician’s son his heir and gave him new name. He taught him laws, he taught him how to manage the affairs, sharing with the young man all his knowledge and wisdom and many years’ experience of service at the pharaoh’s court. And when the new ruler came to the throne, the nobleman introduced the young man as his successor. The young man quickly proved himself and rightfully earned the position of the Godlike’s tjati.

“The nobleman had an only daughter; she was young and beautiful but blind from birth. The physician’s son was always kind and gentle to her. He made up fairytales for her, he went on walks with her; he comforted her in the moments of despair. Soon, they fell in love with one another and even her blindness could not stand between them. When the girl’s father found out, he was angry with the young man but soon realized that his daughter was radiant with happiness and the smile on her lips was something he had long despaired of seeing.”

“And were they happy? Like Thoth and Seshat?”

“Yes, Princess, they were very happy, for many years, until…” Mhotep’s gaze filled with sorrow. Athiri had already guessed whose story the vizier was telling.

“What happened?” Athiri bit her lip in curiosity.

“The envy of the Godlike’s dignitaries and the noblemen of the land knew no bounds. One day in the month of Athyr, when the physician’s son was away on a trip, following the pharaoh’s orders, an assassin sneaked into his house…”

The princess could not hold back an anxious gasp.

Mhotep winced, as if in pain, and continued his troubled story.

“The physician’s son and the prominent nobleman's successor, whom the will of the gods had lifted to a high position and given life, riches and love, lost everything he held most dear overnight. His beloved wife and his little son departed for the Duat before their time… He failed to protect them, to save their lives… Many years have passed but he knows that they are waiting for him in the gold shimmering fields of the great Ra, for their bond is unbreakable, and he shall be faithful to it until he mounts the Sun Bark himself.”

The vizier’s voice faded away. The princess was quiet, struggling to hold back tears of powerless disappointment. She understood what Mhotep wanted to tell her with his story — he would be her advisor and loyal servant but his heart was forever with those who had long left the world of the living.

“Leave me for now, Tjati Mhotep. I see now that the Labyrinths lie and it does not become a queen to rival with a shadow,” she said bitterly. Her eyes misted over with a quivering sheen of moisture, following the silently retreating tall figure.

Once the vizier disappeared inside his magnificent house, Athiri dismissed the maids with a furious flick of her hand and let her despair overflow in quiet, bitter tears. Djer, the faithful companion of all her joys and sorrows, slipped between the cushions and sprawled by her side, resting his elegant sharp-eared head on the silky paws.

 

[1] From _Conversations in Courtship_ , an Egyptian love poem, translation by Ezra Pound. [Pound put it into English from the Italian versions of his son-in-law Boris de Rachewiltz, a distinguished Egyptologist](https://www.ndbooks.com/book/love-poems-of-ancient-egypt/).

[2] Nomarchs were governors of Egyptian provinces — nomes.

[3] Tjati was the highest official in Ancient Egypt. Vizier is the generally accepted rendering of the word. 


	4. Emissary of Seth

Three days passed since the entourage of the Great King stopped at Mhotep’s villa. The pharaoh was feeling better by day. Healing herb teas, fresh air and the tranquility of country life were instrumental in his recovery. Mhotep personally saw that only the freshest and healthiest food was served to the ruler.

His Majesty Rahotep liked the garden that had been planted under the vizier’s personal supervision, enjoying the cool air from the many small ponds filled with quick bright-colored fishes. He spent hours sitting in the shade of sycamores, talking to his confidants, and when the sun was about to set, he called for dancers, acrobats and musicians, little by little returning to his old habits.

Finally, the pharaoh declared that he felt strong enough to continue the journey back to the capital city. Mhotep knew, however, that it was Athiri who had urged her father to leave so hastily. Getting into her golden palanquin, the princess was careful not to look at the vizier, demonstrating her indifference and composure.

“Well, this is for the best, for both of us,” he said to himself. If only she remained forever that wonderful carefree child to whom he had devoted his life! Why is time so relentless, why are the great gods so insidious in their designs? To curse him with this late criminal feeling which he could not escape!

 

***

He did not see Athiri for many moons, trying in vain to banish the longing from his soul, waiting for the capricious daughter of the pharaoh to realize that her visions were never to come true. He tried not to give in to his weakness, not to think about her lovely features, but more and more often would he indulge in strong wine in the solitude of his magnificent house and allow the most beautiful and affectionate of his concubines to caress his starved body. Under their skillful hands and mouths his yearning flesh surrendered to the primal instinct, his mind resting from the heavy burden and hopelessness of the thoughts that plagued him day and night.

Yet his heart still writhed in pain, as though the jaws of the Eater of Hearts, beastly Ammit[1], were mauling it. He knew that he would survive this too, as he had survived the loss of his family; it just took time. Athiri was the become the Great Queen, and her name would be carved on the towering obelisks and temple walls, and the word of her wise rule would live on. Everything takes its course, as the generous Hapi[2] gives floods to the Great River every year, as the Sacred Scarab rolls the sun across the sky every day.

  
The Season of Emergence was coming to a close, and the Dry Season, Shemu, was to take its place. The life in the royal court went on, taking its usual course of ceremonies and feasts. State affairs required Mhotep’s weariless attention: the priests predicted an eclipse, the northern nomes were facing poor harvest and unrest yet again, and the royal crypt was to be completed by the turn of the year.

The Godlike Rahotep listened closely to the vizier’s reasoning for the princess’s marriage and gave him his permission to choose her royal companion, trusting Mhotep’s judgment in this uneasy task.

The upcoming festivities promised to be splendid and would go on for many days. Tjati Mhotep was responsible for all arrangements for those as well. He would choose the strongest, cleverest and handsomest young man of all who were to gather in the palace for the Festival of the Valley.

  
But the thought of his pure, delicate Athiri in another man's arms was unbearable to him. At moments like this, Mhotep would clench in the palm of his hand the Pharaoh’s Gold of Praise, a token of the highest favor from the ruler of the Great Kingdom hanging on his broad chest.

One of the days filled with many cares, when the vizier finally returned to the royal palace to appear before the Godlike with another report, a maid of the young princess stormed into his apartments. He had heard her screams from afar and nodded to the guards to let her in.

The woman’s eyes were overflowing with naked fear, her shoulders shaking. Something must have happened to Athiri, or no one would have dared disturb him on pain of certain death.

The maid dropped on her knees before the vizier, not daring to look up.

  
“The Godlike… there, in the garden… a scorpion…” was all she could force out, breathless from running so quickly.

Mhotep did not need to ask questions; having realized what had happened in mere seconds, he rushed into the gardens. He ran, oblivious to everything, pushing apart inefficient servants who got in his way and growing a tail of curious noblemen who followed him to the scene.

He saw her, surrounded by the helplessly fussing and wailing maids and nurses, and sank to his knees beside the small figure doubled over in pain. One expert glance on the princess’s ankle that was already swollen and red told him everything he needed to know. The big scorpion killed by the tardy servants lay next to her, and Mhotep thanked the gods that the emissary of Seth was brown rather than black — a sting of a black scorpion meant an almost immediate death. There was no time for speculations. If he did everything quickly and correctly, Athiri could yet be saved.

He sent for his sandalwood chest in which he stored his medical paraphernalia, and while the servants did his bidding, he reached, without a further moment's delay, for his golden sash. The razor sharp blade of a knife flashed in the vizier’s hand, and a murmur of dismay swept through the crowd of courtiers surrounding them. But Mhotep held the point of the blade in the flame of a torch offered by an efficient manservant till it became red hot and, gripping the princess’s ankle as tight as he could, cut the soft skin in the sting site with one sure motion. The princess screamed in fear and pain, as the courtiers roared in protest.

Mhotep looked up from his ministrations for a moment, his heavy glare traveling from one clamoring face to another, growled menacingly, “Go back to your chambers! Which of you here wishes the Godlike’s death?!” and pressed his mouth to the wound on Athiri’s leg, quickly sucking out the deadly venom. Finally, he pulled away, spat out the venom, pressed a burning stick to the wound, covered it in balmy ointment and wrapped a tight linen bandage around the ankle. He did his best; now he could only pray to the great gods to give his princess strength to overcome the effects of the venom.

After the useless onlookers left the garden, hurrying to tell the pharaoh about the incident, Mhotep carried the princess, who was still sobbing with pain, to her bedroom.

He offered her drinks and wiped the beads of sweat off her brow with a cloth soaked in cold water that the princess’s maids changed at the wave of his hand. Mhotep started to feel a little weak himself — the scorpion’s venom found a way into his body too. He asked for water and furtively wiped his own face with the wet cloth. However, the rhythm of his heartbeat remained almost calm, unlike the fragile girl that lay now before him, twitching in faint convulsions from time to time. He felt the pulse on the narrow wrist — the heart was pushing blood too quickly. She began to suffocate. He lifted Athiri and rested her head on his shoulder, rubbing her back with the warm palms of his hands in an attempt to make her breathe deeper. The maids watched him in fascination, afraid to approach their mistress’s bed or disturb the tragic moment with any kind of sound. Mhotep had to shake the almost stiff princess in his arms, fearing that if she fell asleep, she might never wake up again. He whispered the softest, the most affectionate words in her ear, calling her, pulling her out of the blackness of the night that wrapped her in its embrace.

Suddenly, a cautious hand touched his shoulder. The vizier turned and in a daze saw one of the pharaoh’s manservants who came to tell him that the Godlike was summoning him and he had to go without delay.

The great vizier left the princess in his personal physician’s care, after exchanging with him a couple of words in a strange language. He did not know how the meeting with the ruler would end for him — the Godlike’s favor could in an instant give way to a most dreadful punishment, so it was with a heavy heart that he walked into the king’s quarters.

In the jaundiced whites of the his eyes, in his bloated body, in his breathing that grew heavier by day, Mhotep easily read the pharaoh’s near and sure decline. He could not help but think that it would be a miracle if the pharaoh lasted until the next high water.

Athiri’s mother was the king’s second wife — a rare beauty from a northern nome, where people worshipped the Resplendent Nekhbet, the patron of Pharaoh’s authority. But the Godlike Rahotep saw his daughter merely as a vessel containing his sacred blood, still lamenting the loss of his only son from his favorite sister wife Sothis, a weak and sickly boy. And so Athiri almost never made him smile with joy or tenderness. Now the vizier could clearly see the naked sorrow and concern of the ruler who had sensed the breath of Eternity.

The account of the sacrilege that Mhotep had dared commit by touching Athiri’s divine flesh had already been presented to the pharaoh in colorful detail, and His Divine Majesty wanted to hear the whole truth from his faithful tjati.

He listened to Mhotep’s words, peering intently into his face, as if looking for some sign of betrayal. He could not have done otherwise, explained Mhotep, he could not have missed the only chance to save the princess’s life and he had not meant any harm to her divine body. Yet his lord’s gaze was still distrustful.

The vizier realized that the only way to make the pharaoh believe him was to reveal the secret he had been keeping for so long. The son of the court physician executed many years ago who had miraculously escaped a dreadful lot but never lost the precious knowledge of the ancient family of magi and healers inherited from his father — this was the man who was now the right hand and the all-seeing eye of the Great King.

Exhausted by the difficult conversation, having scarcely allayed the ruler’s suspicions, Mhotep was finally graciously allowed to return to the dying princess’s apartments and continue the treatment. Not only Athiri’s life was at stake now — his own fate depended on her survival, although it was the last thing on the Great Vizier’s mind.

He sent away the maids to stay by the bed of his young mistress, as he had done when she was but a child and he had to fight the great pestilence that swept the royal household. He saved the royal child then and he was not going to cede her to Eternity now.

When Ra steered his Sun Bark beyond the horizon, the magnificent palace sank into uneasy dead silence. Music and merry voices of feasting noblemen were not heard that night — the pharaoh had forbidden carefree libations and entertainment for as long as his only daughter teetered between life and Eternity. Only occasionally was the eerie silence pierced by the death rattle of the servants and slaves who had been by Athiri’s side that afternoon and failed to catch sight of the scorpion on the garden walk. Those in charge of the peace and safety of the Godlike had no right to live after failing their responsibilities. Such was the cruel and indisputable law that upheld the foundation of the Great Kingdom.

Athiri’s body was aflame. She thrashed on the bed, opening her eyes every so often and peering into nowhere and slipping into unconsciousness again.

  
Mhotep felt as if life was seeping out of this delicate beautiful body with every passing minute and his Athiri could not hear anything, was unaware of anything around her anymore, surrendering to the power of the eternal sleep. Was this his punishment? Long, long ago, his father, who had taught him to read the Labyrinths, told him that Maat[3] had no mercy for those who opposed her will. He had managed to fool Fate once and survived when Pharaoh had his family executed, for which he paid in full with the lives of his beloved wife and son. Now, as he gazed at the fever-worn, painful face of the princess sprawled limply on the silk cushions, his thoughts kept wandering away to the visions of the Labyrinths and the words of the dark sorcerer from Meir.

Was it the hand of fateful chance? The Great Vizier had no answer to that question, his mind blinded by the overwhelming fear of losing yet again the most precious thing he had in his mortal life. Never before had Mhotep prayed to the gods as fervently as he did on that endless black night, feeling the heavy breath of the Lord of the Sacred Land through the sleepless daze, seeing the ominous outline of his black jackal head.

 

***

Dawn painted the horizon with bright colors, the Great Sun returning from another journey across the Duat. His heart almost freezing with fear, Mhotep touched Athiri’s hand. The fever had passed, she was breathing evenly, lost in a healing sleep. His potions had worked.

When she finally opened her eyes that now resembled dark Khemis opals, Mhotep could weep from joy but allowed only a soft weary smile light up his face.

“Was I asleep long, Tjati Mhotep?” she asked as though she had no memory of what had transpired.

“It was the longest night of my life, my lady,” he said, trying to avert his traitorous wet eyes.

A few days passed and Athiri recovered her complexion, cheeriness and appetite, and the reason was none other than Mhotep’s almost constant company. The princess did not wish to have any of her nurses or maids beside her. Her childish whims did not vex the vizier, quite the contrary, he could not stop thanking the gods for every smile and merry laughter of his sweet Athiri. For a dreadful thought haunted his mind: he could have been away on that fateful day, he could have failed to make it to her in time… And the memories made all air suddenly disappear from his lungs and from all around him.

Every day, despite being busy with the affairs of the state and following his lord’s will, he spared no effort to arrange some kind of entertainment for his young mistress, to bring joy to her heart. Little amusing monkeys were delivered to the princess one day, a fascinating contest between magicians was set up specially for her on the next.

He thought that things between them were now as easy and free as they had used to be, that the princess had forgotten about the Labyrinths and their apparitions, and the recent falling out. But every time her delicate fingers touched his hand in a seemingly casual manner, her eyes fixed on him sparkling with a soft sensual light, he realized that he was deluded. The princess bathed in his attention, and she kept making up excuses to keep him at her side for as long as possible, complaining of weakness or an ache in her injured leg, or asking him yet again to tell her one of the many fairy tales he knew.

Meeting the princess’s adoring gaze, seeing her face light up whenever he walked in, Mhotep knew that he had to tell Athiri about the upcoming festivities and her nuptials sooner rather than later, to put an end to this game that should have been ended a long time ago. Watching her recover by the day, the vizier grew more and more determined. As for himself, he would wait for the sumptuous marriage ceremonies to be over and ask the pharaoh to depart to the faraway northern nomes to get the situation there under control. The princess, meanwhile, would develop a closer relationship with her husband, experience the joys of love and the visions of the Labyrinths would be forgotten. He would find a different Athiri upon his return and he would be able, peacefully and without unnecessary anguish, to continue setting up the foundation of her future great rule. These were good and wise thoughts, as though Thoth himself was carving them in his mind. Yet Great Tjati Mhotep knew no rest, for he was to tear his own beating heart out of his chest and trample it under his feet.

 

***

On the first day of Pharmouthi[4], when the wheat fields in the valley became full of tight ears, Great Vizier Mhotep, clad in the ceremonial court garments, the symbols of the king’s favor on his chest, entered the chamber of his mistress, the Godlike Athiri.

The princess passed the time in the company of her maids and nurses, listening to the trills of flute. She sprang up to her feet to greet him, radiant in her youthful beauty as ever. He stooped to carefully examine her wound — it had already closed up and the princess could step on her foot without feeling any pain.

“Why have you stopped breathing, Tjati Mhotep? Are you your cumbersome garments too heavy?” Athiri asked in jest, seeing that her vizier was concerned about something.

“We must speak alone, my lady,” Mhotep said with all solemnity he could muster, but one single look at her made his heart tempered by the trials and troubles of life skip a beat.

One faint wave of her hand, and the two of them were alone in the chamber. The princess eyed the vizier with curiosity, waiting for him to speak. Not once had he visited her apartments in full court garments embroidered with gold and silver, dignified and magnificent, striking the courtiers with awe.

Mhotep could not bring himself to look away from her eyes that had always reminded him of the inviting dark lakes of Ophir; as he summoned up courage to announce her fate to her, it became clearer to him by the second that he would not be able to do it as dispassionately as he had intended.

“I must communicate to you the will of your Godlike father,” he began gravely, observing the court protocol. “The Festival of the Valley is close. Soon the noblest young men of the Great Kingdom will arrive in the palace… You are to join your life to the life of one of them, o Godlike Athiri,” Mhotep breathed out finally, barely recognizing his staggering voice.

The eyes that had been overflowing with joy of seeing her beloved teacher and savior a mere moment ago grew dim. Athiri shrank as though his words were a whip, lips trembling, fingers furiously gripping the armrests of the gilded chair decorated with precious enamel ornaments.

  
Silver tears glistened in the princess’s eyes, and in a second, she turned to him a gaze full of such despair that he wished to never see on her beautiful face.

“This is why you have come here with the Gold of Praise on your chest! This was your plan! I know that I have to bow to my father’s will. So do you!”

“Such is our duty, my lady, I once taught you that…”

“Do you really mean to forsake me, Tjati Mhotep? To allow another to have me, to put my life in another’s hands?” she spat bitterly, meeting his impenetrable gaze.

And she leapt from her seat to grasp the fabric of his shendyt in a desperate, almost childlike gesture, her whole body clinging to him, her shoulders convulsing with sobs, as she had used to do many years ago when she ran to him, frightened by a bad dream.

Dazed and dizzy, he dropped on his knees beside her, mad with tenderness, cursing himself for making her suffer. There could be no doubt, she had known about his true feelings for a long time now. Her nascent feminine nature recognized them unmistakably and solved the mystery of his deliberately detached glances, terse half-smiles and uneven breath that he demonstrated whenever they met.

“Do not abandon me, Tjati Mhotep!” she whispered pleadingly, swallowing her tears. And every drop that fell on his skin turned into molten lead.

“No, no, my darling, my precious Athiri, I live only to protect you, and every thought, every deed of mine is for your good alone! Trust me, your husband will be the best and the worthiest of men, he will become your pillar of support for many years to come, you will know the delights of love in his arms,” he spoke, trying to gently wipe the tears off the soft cheeks, feeling that he had no more strength left to reassure and insist.

“Mhotep, you are my husband, I desire no other!”

“O Fair Isis! You have to understand… You have always been my joy and salvation, I am willing to endure the most vicious tortures for the sake of your happiness. But the great gods already gave me a chance to have love and happiness, and I failed to preserve them, I let them slip through my fingers,” the vizier’s voice was quiet and hoarse. He soothingly put his arms around her shoulders, cradling her against his chest. “How can I claim such a beautiful, gentle and pure creature as you, my Athiri? I am the right hand of the Godlike, his eye and punishing whip, this is my destiny, this is my duty! By becoming your husband, I would doom you to a long fight against the nobility who would accuse us of an unlawful assumption of power. How can I jeopardize your future?”

“I saw you in the Labyrinths, we were one, you and I,” the princess said slowly and solemnly, as though uttering an incantation, her ringing voice echoing across the walls of her chamber. “It was destined by the gods. Woe betide those who go against their will! The dark sign has already been sent to us both! Are you wise enough, Vizier, to acknowledge it?”

The princess’s eyes were full of such purpose and determination that Mhotep froze in awe before his little delicate Athiri. It was as if Hathor herself was speaking now through her mouth. The dreadful speculations that had been tormenting him since the day the princess had stepped so close to the edge of Eternity came true on her lips.

Suddenly, as though remembering one of her visions, she reached for his face and her fingers traced the curve of his lips, causing his traitorous body to shiver. Before he could do anything, the princess pressed his mouth to his in a kiss, a proper, real kiss that was far from chaste — his Athiri, who had been merely a child to him for so many years.

He wanted to back away, but a great force chained him to her. He parted her lips as two halves of the sweetest fruit, drowning in the intoxicating passion and tenderness that overtook him like a sandstorm. He suddenly knew that he neither could nor wanted to resist her beauty, her command, her temptation any longer. On that sleepless night, as she had thrashed in bed, fighting off death, he had felt that he could not yield his Athiri to anyone, that his life belonged to her forever.

And his hands caressed, every touch eliciting a long moan from her, as though he was plucking the strings of a trembling harp. He lowered her on the mat, whispering incoherently.

“Tell me to leave, my lady, order me…”

But her power over his spirit and his body was absolute and irrepressible, and it shattered all his doubt and fear. The crumbs of reason implored him to stop, and he broke off the delirious caress with great effort.

“The serpent in your visions is a warning. Before you become mine and I yours, you must gain legitimate authority. You are the pharaoh’s eldest daughter, divine blood runs in your veins, and the throne is rightfully yours. The Godlike Rahotep will decide our fate. And if you wish, my heavenly lady, my sweet, my beloved Athiri,” he said, yielding to her will, “I shall stand beside you.”

She looked at him, the haze of delight misting over her eyes.

“My husband, my king, my faithful tjati, Mhotep, Great One of the Five of the House of Thoth,” she stubbornly reached for him again, and this time he did not draw her hands away from his burning heart.

From that day on, their meetings were secret assignations; searing kisses grew bolder, and it took Mhotep more and more effort to restrain his passion. But he took his time, slowly opening the doors to the garden of pleasure for her, not letting them pick the sweetest fruit before she became his wife before the gods.

When the Festival of the Valley was no more than two moons away, the pharaoh and his great household set off to examine the new obelisk erected at the entrance to the capital in honor of the Sunfaced Rahotep. The vizier was graced with the pharaoh’s favor again and his welcoming house became home to the Godlike and his royal daughter for several days.

Mhotep's heart bloomed with joy when a tinkle of the golden bell woke him at night, announcing the approaching steps of his mistress’s faithful companion, Djer. Then the palms of small gentle hands covered his eyelids to stop him from looking back, and she twined the lotus stems of her arms around his neck, the delicate bud of her mouth opening, burning his skin with the hot frantic breath. He took her in his arms and carried her into the garden, where he caressed her young lithe body under the canopy of tamarisk and jasmine branches, tirelessly, reverently, teaching her the art of love, bringing them both to the point of exhaustion, until her head finally fell on his broad chest to rest from the storm of theretofore unknown sensations.

 

[1] Ammit was a demoness and goddess in ancient Egyptian religion with a body that was part lion, hippopotamus and crocodile.

[2] Hapi was the god of the annual flooding of the Nile in ancient Egyptian religion.

[3] Maat was the ancient Egyptian goddess who personified the concepts of truth, balance, order, harmony, law, morality, and justice, and regulated the stars, seasons, and the actions of mortals and the deities who had brought order from chaos at the moment of creation.

[4] The fourth month of the season of Proyet (Growth and Emergence) in Ancient Egypt, when the Nile floods recede and the crops start to grow throughout the land.


	5. Jackals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (yes, i have resorted to making my own collages, because i can't bear to look at pic-less chapters. wherever the author of the illustration is not indicated, just assume it's mine.)

 

The sweet dream gifted to Mhotep was akin to the flooding of the river that brings the soil back to life after a long exhausting drought. His heart was overflowing with great love, tenderness and passion with which he was willing to shower his young mistress infinitely. Her intelligence, her courage and thirst for love made any other thought impossible.

The Festival of the Valley was fast approaching but none of the nomarchs would have the honor of becoming the Godlike Athiri’s husband. She would bend her knees to her royal father and announce her choice.

What would they be facing then? A severe punishment or the highest favor? Mhotep did not know. He could only trust the prophecies of the Labyrinths as Athiri did. But he could foresee one thing — the moment the envious noblemen found out about his intent to marry the pharaoh’s daughter, they would do everything in their power to besmirch him in the Sunfaced king’s eyes and accuse him of power-seeking designs. Anticipating this, the vizier, faithful to his habit of thinking ahead, gave orders to his confidants to make certain important arrangements. A portion of his treasures would be safely stowed away for the eventuality of his possible fall from the pharaoh’s grace.

On the morning of the last day the royal retinue were to spend in Mhotep’s house, as the tjati finished getting dressed to appear before the pharaoh, a terrible commotion rose, as if someone had disturbed a gigantic beehive. The vizier’s heart stuttered and curled into a cold tight ball. An uneasy sense of foreboding followed him as he walked towards the ruler’s apartments.

The spacious sunlit room was filled with sounds of agony. The whites of the unseeing eyes bulging, bloody froth coming out of the wide-open mouth, convulsing in death throes on the cushions embroidered with gold, lay the crowned Godlike ruler of the Great Kingdom.

All was over so suddenly that no one even had time to think to send for a physician. The pharaoh’s lifeless body fell limp as an empty sack on his lush bed. For a moment, a complete, bloodcurdling silence enveloped the room, dread gleaming in the eyes of the people who had just beheld their king’s demise.

Mhotep stood still as though struck by Seth’s lightning. A terrible realization gripped his mind. A vicious, brutal murder had been committed on this unplanned visit, under the roof of his, Mhotep’s, house.

In the predatory looks of the dignitaries and priests crowding around the pharaoh’s body, he read something he ought to have guessed much, much sooner — the black sparks of malicious joy of a successfully accomplished plot. Who would be the first to throw the accusation at him, as one throws a bone at a pack of jackals? His darkened gaze swept over the smug greedy faces. He had always been envied; power, untold wealth and the king’s boundless confidence were enough to earn him fierce enemies from among those who strived to have the same. The pharaoh had been poisoned in the vizier’s house, surrounded by vizier’s servants!

The scorpion was but a way to distract the ever-vigilant Mhotep from the pharaoh’s safety. The vizier hardly left his royal ward’s side after the incident. A slow poison could have easily been put in the Godlike’s food, and his ailments were so common that he never noticed a change in his condition. But the worst of all was that after the princess had recovered, Rahotep put his own health in his tjati’s hands, taking the potions brewed by Mhotep.

What was there to prove? Tjati Mhotep wished to get rid of his king and to take the throne of the Great Kingdom for himself by resorting to a horrible sacrilege. Preposterous as it might seem, the conspirators would convince the people that he was guilty of the crime.

It was too late to do anything as Mhotep realized that the spectacle had been well planned. Royal guards emerged on either side of him, belligerently crossing their gilded khopeshes.

“Vizier Mhotep! You shall be tried and brought to account for the heinous act committed in your house!” the voice that broke the silence belonged to Nefer, the dignitary who was responsible for collection of taxes and had repeatedly clashed with Mhotep when the latter exposed him for abusing his position and stealing.

The trap set for the vizier swung shut. Mhotep closed his eyes, placing his life in the hands of the gods. His only thought, the thought that made his heart throb with pain was the fate of the young Athiri.

  
***

A pharaoh’s death always plunged his subjects into fear and confusion. No pharaoh meant no stability. No one to uphold the world order, no one to defeat the impending chaos!

A ninety day country-wide mourning was announced. During that period, no one was to be tried or judged, scribe schools were closed, and merchants did not bring goods to markets. It seemed as if life had stopped, the world was crumbling down and the sun growing dim.

Athiri had not seen her mentor for several long weeks. She was told that Mhotep had poisoned her father, that he would be tried and justly judged after the burial ceremony, that she had better not utter his name so as not to disturb the pharaoh’s soul. These words bore no meaning to her. The princess’s cheeks were always wet with tears. She demanded to see Mhotep.

Never before had she been without him for so long. Yet it was as if no one around her could see or hear her despair; servants and courtiers took pains to hide from her uncontrollable rage that fell upon anyone who dared attempt to placate her. Only Djer was allowed to rub devotedly against the hands of his inconsolable mistress, offering his silky fur to soak in her hot tears.

Her sleep was restless. She dreamed that Mhotep sat by her bedside, as he had done when she was ill as a child. Once fever took lives of six royal children, and the vizier stayed in Athiri’s chamber for days, watching over her treatment, until the shadow of death retreated. He told her ancient tales of gods and heroes, his quiet, soothing, rasping voice so close — she would only have to open her eyes, it seemed, to see his noble face with tiny, barely noticeable wrinkles around the corners of the jade green eyes.

But every time she woke up to find herself surrounded by indifferent silent servants, who were ready to carry out any order save the one she had been giving since that terrible day in Mhotep’s house. Everybody knew that anyone who opened their mouth would die. The noblemen had seized the power and kept a close eye on their captive — he was to be forgotten for the duration of the mourning period.

After many unsuccessful attempts to get her way, Athiri realized at last that she could not expect support or understanding from anyone. Her carefree childhood had ended, abruptly and mercilessly. No one would tell her where Mhotep was now, she would not see him until the day of his trial.

By the end of the second month of the mourning, she had abandoned all hope to hear about him, detached and lost in her melancholy. Uncaring and limp as a lifeless doll, she was roused in the morning, oiled and scented, dressed and decorated with jewelry. Not a word, not a laugh came through her lips; smile left her beautiful face, as though her very soul was stolen.

Nefer entered Athiri’s chamber with such confidence as if he were already the master of the majestic palace. Bending his knee in a most servile manner, he addressed the princess sitting in her high golden chair.

“O most august Athiri! Hathor has generously bestowed her grace upon you! May I speak to you?”

“Rise, Lord Nefer! Speak!” the princess said indifferently. She had been sitting there for many hours, looking over the scrolls full of beautiful drawings and stories once written down for her by Mhotep, trying to feel his presence.

Nefer raised his head, a predatory smile playing on his lips.

“He has jackal’s eyes,” thought Athiri, listening to his every word intently, trying to ignore the venomous smirk on the face of the nobleman who, for some inexplicable reason, had always frightened and disgusted her.

The meaning of her visitor’s words reached her gradually, coming through the wall of her own grief-fogged thoughts.

Nefer proposed that she become his wife after the burial ceremony and the following trial. As the king’s eldest daughter, she bore the divine title and her husband was to become the new pharaoh.

Her hands gripped the gilded armrests painfully in an attempt to ground her. Her furious voice showed no trace of the trusting spoilt child people had known not so long ago.

“I do not believe a single word of yours, Nefer! Vizier Mhotep could not poison my father. I shall insist on his innocence! You shall never rule the Great Kingdom, however you might wish it!” Athiri said loudly and contemptuously, spitting every word into the hateful face.

Nefer gave another dramatic bow, chuckling under his breath. He had not expected such a rebuff from Athiri, who he knew had been despondent and withdrawn for weeks. So be it, no more wasting sweet words on her for now! The princess would see that her demonstrative stubbornness was pointless.

“In that case, o Godlike, you will ruin yourself. You will be seen as complicit in Mhotep’s plot. People know of your affair already but I am gracefully willing to take you, and the great officials of the kingdom would approve of our union. The sun shall rise over Egypt again. Think about it. Amun’s power and Thoth’s wisdom be with you!”

The princess hardly dared breathe, trying to keep her balance. Only now did she feel how weak her body had become — she had barely touched food in the past months, pondering over Mhotep’s fate day and night.

Yes, Athiri understood Nefer well. She had no choice. Only one thing made the princess important for the conspirators — the divine blood that ran in her veins and could legitimize the new ruler’s authority. And it was the very thing that could become her sword and shield and protect the man she treasured the most in this life.

She turned her gaze to Nefer, her eyes darkened by impotent fury, filled with scorching fire that was unbearable to look at.

“I shall become your queen! On the day the mourning ends, I shall keep my promise and take oaths to the great gods, but you, Lord Nefer, must swear on the sacred eye of Amun that Mhotep’s life and freedom shall be spared. If you break your oath, may the divine vengeance fall upon you, may Ammit devour your insides before you reach the Realm of the Dead!” her words came solemn and grim, incantation-like.

The dignitary nodded in satisfaction.

“So be it, o Godlike! You are wise beyond your years. I swear that Mhotep shall keep his life and freedom. But he shall be banished from your lands forever, stripped of his property and titles, and his name shall be chiseled off temple walls and obelisks.”


	6. "He is the vizier."

__

 

 _Truly, he who is yonder will be a living god,_  
_Punishing the evildoer’s crime._  
_Truly, he who is yonder will stand in the sun-bark,_  
_Making its bounty flow to the temples._  
_Truly, he who is yonder will be a wise man,_  
_Not barred from appealing to Re when he speaks._ >.[1]

 

All members of the royal family, courtiers and dignitaries gathered to bury the pharaoh. Restrained by the armed warriors from the pharaoh’s personal guard, the crowd silently watched the magnificent scene. The long funeral procession was led by the princess Athiri who sat in the shade of the light silk baldachin, and Lord Nefer followed her half a step behind, with an air of the king’s legitimate successor. High officials, noblemen, priests and priestess lined up behind him in a strict order. Some of them were dressed as Anubis, others as the patron goddesses Isis or Nephthys. The sarcophagus with the mummy lay on the wagon drawn by bulls.  Canopic jars and funerary gifts were transported separately, following the sarcophagus. The hired mourners played excruciating grief with well-practiced gestures, tearing their clothes and sprinkling road dust upon their heads.

After the opening of the mouth ceremony[2], the sarcophagus, canopic jars and funerary gifts were carried into the very tomb that the late pharaoh had examined so thoroughly shortly before his death — Fate's jokes are nothing if not cruel. The funeral feast was lavish and went on too long. The abundance of food and wine, exuberant merriment stood in stark contrast with the funeral procession. Joy was expected — the pharaoh had stepped into Eternity and found immortality.

Princess Athiri could not bring herself to touch food or wine. The trial was to take place on the following day; she would see Mhotep for the first time since the day her father died — and for the last time ever. Never again would she be able to talk to him, to hear his hoarse voice that had wisely advised and educated her. A new life was about to begin for her, and she would enter it without hesitation, for she would know that his devoted heart was still beating somewhere far away — she had bought this heartbeat with her own freedom.

Her fingers traced the smooth polished back of the lapis lazuli scarab on her hand, Mhotep’s last gift on the occasion of the Beautiful Feast of Opet, the annual twenty-seven day festival celebrating Amun. A fine, incredibly elaborate work of a nameless jeweler.

Some day, she will follow her father into Eternity to be reborn as the sun disc does. There, beyond the edge of the world of the living, she and Mhotep shall meet again to have their unhurried conversations and hold hands. There she shall be his eternal companion, lover and wife. Life is but a speck of dust on the palms of eternity, it will pass quickly — your thoughts and cares should be about that which comes after it.

 

***

The deposed vizier was a priest of the Goddess Maat, the infallible chief justice whom everyone still respected and feared. He could only be judged by the pharaoh or his successor. No one but the princess possessed such authority in this troubled and anxious time. Athiri was to say the accusatory speech and pass sentence upon her mentor and closest friend. The conspirators led by Nefer had allowed her to spare Mhotep's life and freedom in exchange for his permanent exile from the Egyptian land.

The young princess was clad in the rich ceremonial garments. The golden vulture of the crown spread its shining wings around her head, the uraeus, royal cobra, rising from her brow, lapis lazuli, turquoise and carnelian of the usekh[3] shimmering on her chest.

Nefer could not usurp the power yet but his proximity to the foot of the throne made those present confident that he would become their king very soon.

Nefer stepped forward and as he raised his hand, a thick dead silence fell. The massive doors at the end of the long chamber were immediately opened. Flanked by six royal guards, head held up high, in walked the Great Vizier Mhotep. Looking over his stoic, almost stone-rigid face, Athiri suddenly remembered one of the texts she had read in the library that he had collected for her.

 

 _Look to the office of vizier,_  
_Watch over all that is done in it,_  
_Lo, it is the pillar for the whole land._  
_Lo, being vizier,_ _Lo, it is not sweet._  
_Lo, it is bitter as gall._  
_Lo, he is the copper that shields the gold of his master's house,_  
_Lo, he is not one who bends his face to magistrates and councilors,_  
_Not one who makes of anyone his client._  
_Lo, what a man does in his master's house will be his happiness,_  
_Lo, he shall not act in the house of another._

_…He who does justice before all people,  
He is the vizier. **[4]**_

 

She barely managed to gulp down her tears as she beheld the sharpened features of his noble face. He was not wearing ceremonial clothes or any ornaments, only a plain white shendyt embraced his hips. Even now, deprived of his titles, not a single gem adorning his body, he appeared more powerful than anyone in the room with their garbs shining and the voids of their souls gaping.

“Listen you all who worship the Great Gods, listen you all who take oaths to the sacred eye of Amun, listen!” Nefer called out loudly and solemnly. “Here is a man who has committed a sacrilege, it was he who has plotted a wicked murder worthy of Seth himself and poisoned the Godlike under the roof of his home, breaking every imaginable and unimaginable law. Look at this man!”

The noblemen and priests boomed in condemnation. Athiri could swear that there was not a single supporter of Mhotep among them. Nefer had handpicked the participants of the justice ceremony.

“This man, whose name is now unworthy of mention, was our Sunfaced lord’s right hand for many years, all the while harboring his black designs. We obeyed and honored him. But his treachery knew no measure and now he has robbed us of light, stolen our greatest treasure!”

The angry voices rose around them again, making Athiri’s heart shrink in fear. It seemed to her as though it would not be long until the enraged courtiers lunged on Mhotep to tear him apart right before her eyes.

“Death to the kingslayer!”

“Death to the traitor!” the crowd roared as one now. Nefer raised his hand again in an appeasing gesture.

“As the first advisor and the most faithful servant of the king’s divine power, I would throw him into a pit to the children of Sobek[5] without hesitation, for this is the only death that traitors and murderers deserve. However, we must obey the law and honor the Godlike’s memory. His daughter, the august Athiri, shall decide this man’s fate. Such is her right.” Nefer cast an expressive glance at the princess, implying that now was the time for her speech.

Athiri rose from her seat, her shoulders straightening proudly, her bitter gaze fixed on the audience. Those who saw her on that day would say afterwards that a speech so wise and so sensible could only come from the mouth of the splendid Isis herself and not of some young girl.

“I am Athiri, the royal daughter of the Godlike Rahotep, born in his house. The blood of the Great Gods is running through my veins. And I tell you, this man is guilty!”

Athiri tried not to let her eyes wander to Mhotep’s bent head, lest she broke down, and listened to the whispers of approval in the crowd.

“But he is not worthy of death! He does not deserve it! Listen to my will! This man shall leave the bounds of Kemet[6] forever to become an eternal outcast doomed to roam strange lands. His deeds shall be forgotten, his house razed, and anyone who dares speak his name shall be put to death. Be it so, and may the Great Gods witness my will!”

Her words faded, and a heavy tense silence enveloped the room. Nefer smiled a faint content smile, hearing the speech prepared by the conspirators from the lips of the young princess.

Athiri bit her lip in an attempt to keep her composure and drew blood. Not one muscle must twitch on her face. Nobody must know how her soul writhed in agony, how she ached to rush to her tjati, to throw her arms around his neck, to weep on his chest, to tell him how she yearns after him, to tell him that she knew not how to live without him by her side...

Their eyes met as he was brought to the foot of the high throne. The small procession knelt down before the princess. When he was allowed to rise, all Athiri could read in his eyes was admiration and poorly concealed pain. He was so proud of her at that moment, proud of her beauty, her strength, her newfound power.

 _You were wrong, magician from Meir — never, not even in Eternity, shall I wish for a better fate than meeting her again, even if the great gods separate us thousands and thousands of times over_ , thought Mhotep when he heard the last word of the sentence uttered by his mistress. He knew why she had resorted to this, why she had surrendered her sole right to the crown, and he could only take her generous gift with seeming submission.

Soon Athiri would become the great queen of the Upper and Lower Egypt. He had taught her everything she needed to do it. She would cope with all difficulties and handle the scheming noblemen. Fair Isis — Athiri, fate itself, love itself, life itself.

  
***

On the day of the Min Festival, when the first bundle of the new crop would be offered to the ancient deity, Athiri would take oaths to her future husband Nefer, thus making him the pharaoh. Priests’ prophecies promised them many children, for Min was the god of fertility, the giver of rain and rich harvest.  
  
After the terrible and unjust trial, the princess avoided thinking about the past, trying to keep her mind off Mhotep and the fate that awaited him. The most important thing was that he lived — far away from her, in a strange land, but he lived. His heart was still beating, his voice still spoke, even if it was not for her… This was her consolation in the moments of unbearable despair as she prepared for the wedding ceremony.

And yet, the closer crept the dreaded day, the more often Athiri imagined her life beside Nefer, quailing at the thought of his touch and kiss, the sadder she grew. Her dreams were nightmares, food lost its taste, and nothing her people did could distract her, entertain her or make her smile.

Djer, her sole joy and friend of so many years, kept hiding in nooks and corners of the grand palace and grew feebler by the day, only occasionally coming to his mistress’s side. He rarely opened his intelligent golden eyes now, lying rug-like still by her feet every day — until Athiri’s maids found his cold little body in a remote corner of the garden one morning…

Now the princess spent hours sitting on the edge of the small pool in the cool shade of the garden that her beloved tjati had once had planted for her, indifferent to everything around her. Fate had taken away all she held dear, first robbing her of her father’s protection, then viciously separating her from the man she loved more than anything in the world. The passing of the faithful Djer was the last cruel blow to her spirit.

Sinking deeper into her sorrow every minute, the princess longed to see Mhotep, if only for a brief moment — she would give anything for one more glance at him.

Pebbles polished by the hands of long centuries slipped from the small cloth pouch and fell on the floor in front of the princess. Athiri picked them up, brought them reverently to her lips, ran the cool smoothness across her cheek, caressing, whispering words known to her alone. Slowly, her soul parted from her body. The Labyrinths welcomed the young maiden with open arms. Her feet found the familiar path and took the first step.

 

 

[1] From _The Dispute between a Man and His Ba_ , translation by Miriam Lichtheim

[2] The ancient Egyptians believed that in order for a person's soul to survive in the afterlife it would need to have food and water. The opening of the mouth ritual was thus performed so that the person who died could eat and drink again in the afterlife.

[3] A personal ornament, a type of broad collar or necklace.

[4] Fragments from _The Installation of the Vizier_ (from the tomb of Rekhmire, Vizier of Thutmose III), Translation by Miriam Lichtheim

[5] Sobek was an ancient Egyptian deity associated with the Nile crocodile or the West African crocodile and is either represented in its form or as a human with a crocodile head. As you might have guessed yourselves, “children of Sobek” is a fancy name for crocodiles.

[6] Ancient Egyptian name of Egypt


	7. Immortality. Part 1

 

© [Catelyn May](https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100016771998221)

 

 _I will breathe the sweet breath which comes forth from your lips;_  
_I will behold your beauty every day._  
_My prayer is to hear your voice, sweet like the north breeze._  
_Your limbs will be young in life, through my love of you,_  
_and you will give me your arms which bear your spirit._  
_I will receive it, and live through it_  
_and you will call out my name for eternity;_  
_it will never fail on your lips_.[1]

 

William Lamb put the magnifying glass aside and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to relieve the eye-numbing stress brought on by hours of exhausting meticulous work. The texts scribbled on the ancient papyri were an inexhaustible source of invaluable knowledge about the life that bustled on these banks millennia ago. He could not stop working, even knowing as he did that he had to rest at least once in a while and not work at the expense of eating and sleeping. But nearly every day of the expedition brought new amazing findings that concealed new unsolved mysteries, making rest an unattainable luxury. For the first time in his career as an archaeologist, the anticipation of a great discovery, the kind that shakes the entire scientific community, was tingling in him, he could feel it with his very skin.  It had been a long time since an untouched tomb was found in the Valley of the Kings, and he believed that fortune would smile on them in the next few weeks.

“May 4, 1972. Field work continues. Found ceramic fragments of the Middle Kingdom period in the latest layers,” he wrote down in his journal with satisfaction.

Suddenly the flap of his tent was lifted and he heart someone delicately clearing their throat. Daisy was really looking for trouble if she thought she could just barge in and start on her nightly sermon on the importance of regular sleep patterns. Daisy knew William from university days; she was a colleague and friend, his comrade in arms in the long struggle to arrange this insane expedition. She had always kept a vigilant watch over William, making sure that he didn’t wear himself out, lost in the work he loved so passionately.

But it was not Daisy who climbed under the tarpaulin dome of his makeshift office. A slender, short young woman stood in front of him, a hefty knapsack on her back and a look of utter admiration in her eyes.

Lamb stared in amazement at his uninvited guest. There you go, another pesky reporter he would have to get rid of in a civilized manner. The girl stuck her hand out, beaming at him.

“Morning, Professor Lamb! My name is Alexandra Kent, I’m your new assistant!”

William choked on his coffee. Where did she come from? What is this, some kind of joke? What assistant? He and Daisy never discussed this!

“Oh, Miss Kent, I’m afraid you have been misinformed. I always work alone, without assistants. Of course, we do need extra hands at the site and volunteers are welcome but… I sincerely apologize, I am extremely busy at the moment!”

All businesslike, he instantly buried his nose in his notebook, resuming the work she had interrupted, as though he couldn’t see the young woman’s cheeks flush crimson, her eyes growing dim, the expression of the upturned-nose face dejected and lost.

“I’m sorry, Professor, I thought you knew. I’m going to go and ask Miss Jones when I can catch a ride from the camp,” the young woman left the tent, her pointed chin jerked up high, leaving Lamb to his frazzled thoughts.

He struggled to focus on the translation, wondering why on earth he felt so guilty and wretched. His mind, as if it had a mind of its own, kept retrieving the image of the unexpected young visitor's charming face and her big brown eyes, wide open in rapture, that felt so oddly familiar.

 

***

“Do you even know who Alexandra Kent is?! You could have at least asked me, you stubborn idiot!” Daisy shouted, not even pretending to try to curb her anger. “Do you know who her father is? Do you know how hard it was to find sponsors for our expedition?”

“He can be the Pope himself for all I care, I don’t give a shit! I don’t need amateurs getting in my way! You’re not going to change my mind!”

“Sure, William Lamb can afford not giving a shit. Well, we’ll see what you’re going to say when we won’t have the money to feed the workers and volunteers next month.”

“Alright, Daisy, keep your hair on. But you have to admit, you should have discussed this with me first!”

“Jesus! I wanted to! I got a strong recommendation from her father to take her in just last Friday. How was I supposed to know the girl would rush here at the crack of dawn?! Her father agreed to finance our dig only because she’s been obsessed with mummies and pyramids just about since she was in diapers and she even got an archeology degree at Oxford. So she jumped the gun and caught the next flight here. By the way, she knows her hieroglyphic writing, and I mean she’s really good at it. I hear she’s expected to make a brilliant career in Egyptology. You have to help her, William! You’ll be helping our work too.”

William listened to his colleague, making no attempt to interrupt her passionate speech. Perhaps Daisy saw herself in that young dreamer, full of hopes and ready to move mountains for the greater glory of science.

“We are bound to hit the burial chamber soon. Only a few layers to go,” Daisy continued. “So play nice, William. I set her up in my tent and calmed her to the best of my ability. And please, think of something for her to do at the site tomorrow. Have you had anything to eat today, by the way?”

William rolled his eyes, making it clear without words how sick he was of this kind of questions, and gave up with a sigh. Daisy triumphantly dragged him out of her office to the tent that served as the camp mess.

 

***

Alexandra lay on her flimsy cot, barely holding back tears. This wasn’t how she had imagined the beckoning world of an archeological dig in the Valley of the Kings. The palms of her hands were calloused, her entire body ached from exertion. All she was capable of by the end of the day was wash some of the dust off her body and shuffle off to her tent. Armed with a shovel, a trowel and a scraper, she had been removing the cultural layer together with the student volunteers all day long, stone by stone, carefully putting away the tiniest fragments of the civilization long gone. It was the most menial job at the site that required no special skills. The rest was done by the scientists, and she had hoped to be one of them.

But she couldn’t let herself give up or worse, complain. Or worse, complain to her father. She knew that William Lamb was trying her patience. And it was his reputation of the most audacious and talented Egyptologist that made her so anxious to get here. She clipped his articles from archaeological journals, dreaming of the day she would work in his team. So, of course, when she heard that Professor Lamb and Daisy Melvin were looking for someone to finance their future expedition, she asked her father to sponsor them, although he hardly approved of her idea to join this venture, this crazy quest for the unknown tomb.

“I am not giving up, Professor Lamb! In your dreams!” she thought. For some reason, the last thing she saw on the inside of her closed eyelids before she sank into sleep was his eyes that reminded her of the Nile water in the flooding season.

He watched her stealthily every day, fighting back the urge to stop this pointless execution. She clearly wasn’t made for this kind of work, but every day the young woman valiantly picked up her shovel and hauled the heavy rock-filled barrow just like anybody else at the site, clearing the entrance to the mysterious tomb. William worked like a dog himself, popping up here and there, helping the volunteers. Daisy never managed to get him away from the site before late night.

He sat down next to Alexandra at the communal dinner table one night and couldn’t help noticing her tense.

“Well, you are doing great,” he said and smiled, seeing her cheeks turn pink at his praise. “I think you can assist me with the sorting and description of the findings starting from tomorrow. I also have a few texts that need interpreting, if you’re up to it.” Sparkling eyes and a beaming smile spoke louder than words… spurring his own heart into a gallop.

In the following weeks, the aspiring Egyptologist Alexandra Kent threw herself into the fascinating texts, working side by side with Professor Lamb. They would drown together in a manuscript, head to bent head, skipping lunch, snacking on cookies — sometimes mock fighting for the last one in the bag. Daisy would find the two red-eyed coffee abusers (not already but still) awake at dawn and scold them, but the ghost of a mischievous smile never failed to touch her lips when she saw them together. She already knew why William so easily, even readily gave up his habitual reclusion.

More and more often would conversations between the seasoned scientist and his young assistant wander away from science: they talked about everything and seemed to be unable to get enough, like two friends that met after a long time apart. Both were astonished — after all, the age difference between them was more than substantial. They were born in different worlds, almost different eras. He had almost half a century behind his back, and she was at the very start of her journey.

It wasn’t long before Alexandra found herself hopelessly in love for the first time in her life… The realization was joyous and sad at the same time. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how to tell him about her feelings and she wasn’t sure if he would reciprocate.

Sometimes she felt as if she had met him before, somewhere, as if she had already listened to his measured voice narrating captivating stories and tales and looked into the mysterious green of the wise eyes. Sometimes, vague and odd but exciting images flashed in the back of her mind, draped in the soft golden glow and the murmur of an invisible night garden. She blamed her oversensitive, impressionable nature and the rising heat, and she grit her teeth, making herself concentrate on the work at hand.

William realized he could no longer ignore the stubborn bloom of the unexpected, unbidden feeling but it also made him feel confused, embarrassed and awkward. For many years, he had believed that he wasn’t made for love — or love wasn’t for him. Is there even such thing as love, a true, deep, immortal love sung by poets of all centuries? Brief encounters and fleeting infatuations that left almost no trace in his bachelor pad were all he allowed himself. He had been stabbed in the back once and wasn’t going to let it happen again.

Ten days had passed and they were finally removing the last layer hiding the anticipated discovery. The cleared small stone door led to a royal tomb that apparently remained untouched by grave robbers.

None of the scientists had any sleep that night, discussing the best safest way to unseal the burial chamber.

The long-awaited morning dawned, painting the horizon surreal shades of apple blush that deepened into vermillion red and turned golden orange. It looked like the ancient god himself was setting out on his daily journey in his sky boat.

The workers moved aside the massive flagstone covering the entrance to the tomb. Beams of powerful flashlights hit the inner walls of the chamber that had known nothing but eternal sacred silence for thousands of years. Alexandra held her breath. She could swear she heard the sound of her heart beating. It was so somber and scary inside. Her fingers made up her mind for her, reaching for Professor Lamb’s hand. He squeezed them encouragingly, as if to say, don’t be afraid, I’m right here. The confident warmth of his palm calmed her nerves, and they started the examination.

The entire research group was walking on air. They found everything intact — all burial gifts, the sarcophagus and the murals of unspoken beauty. It seemed as if someone had attempted to stop life here, covering the chamber walls with the most gorgeous paintings day by day, month by month.

William was stunned by the discovery. Never before had he encountered such a vivid and ingenuous artistic style. There were hunting scenes and merry dances to celebrate the flooding of the Nile, there were pictures of exotic birds and animals. The unknown artist painted the owner of the tomb herself as well, the majestic beautiful queen that once wore the crown of the Upper and Lower Egypt. There she was as a child playing with a finely drawn black long-eared cat; there she was looking over the fishes in the pond or gliding in the royal bark, her big beautiful black eyes peering into the distance.

After the first hours spent in the euphoric daze of the incredible find, the camp settled down for the afternoon break that they could not do without if they wanted to resume their work in cooler evening hours. Heat in the Valley of the Kings had been climbing up in the past weeks, and people needed more rest. People, but not William Lamb and Alexandra Kent. Having barely swallowed their lunch, they decided to examine the tomb one more time and take a few photos. The story of life and death of its mysterious owner was yet to be told to the world — after they read the neat rows of hieroglyphs on the granite walls.

Alexandra carefully studied the ancient writings, her small fingers barely brushing the plaster, recalling the meanings of the images, trying to understand what they said. William stepped closer, the beam of his flashlight illuminating one of the inscriptions near a delicate drawing of the sacred scarab.

A staggering clarity washed over him. He didn’t have to make an effort to decipher the images and symbols. His scientific brain excited by the unthinkable discovery couldn’t find any rational explanation to this but words came together on their own, as though William had always known them and read them from his own heart. “If you blossom, so may I blossom as a living plant. In death and immortality I am your faithful servant.”[2] His voice was deep and solemn, as if he had found the roots of Fate weaving into the pattern of a solitary life, the longed-for revelation that was impervious to time itself.

Alex felt his sudden, thrilling proximity behind her, his hot breath and quickened heartbeat; she froze, enchanted by the voice reciting the message from the dark depth of centuries. She closed her eyes and took half a step back, meeting the welcoming warmth of his broad chest.

They stood still in the half-light, powerless to break the invisible bonds that held their bodies together. For a moment, time faded away and was no more, and two souls roaming the labyrinths of immortality finally recognized each other again.

“I think this will be it for now, Alex, I have to work on my report and you should get some rest before the evening,” William said in a suddenly clipped tone, turning to the exit, avoiding her stare and trying hard to take control of his heart that apparently thought it belonged to a teenage boy.

 

[1] Inscription on Tomb 55 in the Valley of the Kings that contained the mummy of Pharaoh Akhenaten but originally belong to one of his wives, princess Kiya. Translation by John Ray ( _The Rosetta Stone and the Rebirth of Ancient Egypt_ )

[2] *deep breath* Okay, this is kind of from the Pyramid Texts (quoting Wiki again - "a collection of ancient Egyptian religious texts from the time of the Old Kingdom. Written in Old Egyptian, the pyramid texts were carved on the walls and sarcophagi of the pyramids at Saqqara during the 5th and 6th Dynasties of the Old Kingdom." This one is Utterance 350 and I nearly broke the Internet and my spirit looking for it in all the wrong places.) plus a line improvised by the author(s). The thing is the Russian translation used in the original text of this fanfic was made by the great Russian poet Anna Akhmatova and it is beautiful. Unlike it, none of the many English translations, I think, can be used to describe a relationship between lovers – this is a king praying to the sky-goddess, after all: “O thou who stridest very wide, as she sows the emerald, the malachite, the turquoise (as) stars, if thou art green (well), N. will be green, green as living plants (?).” (Translation by Samuel A.B. Mercer, 1952). I know, I know, the annotation is longer than the annotated fragment. I do tend to ramble when I feel relief. I just thought you might be interested. I was. 


	8. Triumph of Anubis

 

 

On the eve of the Min Festival, in the midst of the preparations for the young princess’s wedding to Nefer, the palace was shaken by the horrible news. Athiri’s breathless body had been found in her royal chamber. People who were close to her, who had seen her grow up, were inconsolable, sincerely crying for their beautiful mistress that had left this world so early to follow her father into the other.

Wailers’ voices filled the palace gardens. The capital was plunged into mourning again. Priests and noblemen were perplexed, palace servants whispered in the corners. What could have happened to a young healthy girl? Why had her heart stopped as if commanded by some mysterious force?

Athiri’s body was anointed with myrrh and unction and dressed in a most splendid garment. A day had passed but her face remained young and fresh, untouched by death’s shadow.

In a procession of dignitaries, priests and wailers, the princess was carried into the ceremonial bark decorated with lotus flowers, mallow and cornflowers. Her body was to be embalmed and thus preserved for centuries as a home for Ba, one of the five parts of her immortal soul that would keep returning to it.

The traditional place of the ritual was the temple of Anubis that stood on the highest bank of the Nile, with the valley of royal tombs in clear view. Priests of the jackal god would extract her organs and place them in alabaster canopic jars, soak her skin in unction and precious oils, wrap the august body in linen cloth and adorn it with sacred amulets, preparing it for immortality, and put it into a sarcophagus.

A solemn, somber silence reigned in the spacious torch-lit embalming chamber. Burial songs had long faded, and nothing disturbed the peace of this witching place. Only statues of Anubis stared from their corners, the sacred key of life and immortality, ankh, clutched in their hands.

The young princess’s slender body rested on the big polished granite table. Her beautiful face still kept round and soft features of a child; she looked as though she was sleeping, as though the petals of her eyelids with the kohl-black lashes were about to flutter open and reveal eyes shining with the light of life.

The chief priest of Anubis leant over her, still, another sculpture in this frightening chamber, his head in the black jackal mask tilted. Never had he seen such a beautiful creature leave the world at the dawn of her youth and beauty. He stood admiring her for a while before starting on the preparations for his sinister duty.

But suddenly a strange noise came from beyond the massive door, and the priest put aside his obsidian knife that would make the first cut on Athiri’s body and stepped outside to see what the commotion was and who dared interrupt the sacred ritual.

The fingers of the small figure sprawled on the cold granite bed twitched slightly. The body abandoned by its owner for such a long time refused to obey, her heart waking up very slowly and almost silently. Coming back to life, Athiri realized in terror what awaited her. The priest was already hurrying back, she felt him approaching with her very skin, straining her ears. Her conscience desperately thrashed about the cage of the unyielding body. All was in vain. He must be raising the ceremonial knife at this very moment, she thought, drowning in fear, almost sensing the sharp blade burn her tender flesh with searing pain. If only she could scream!

And with a gasp that could not get out, she felt the heat of fingers wrap around her wrist, searching for a pulse, then trace the line of her face, descend to her throat and draw a caressing line from her chest down to the belly.

She opened her lead-heavy eyelids — with an impossible effort of will — to see the black muzzle of Anubis hovering over her as a deadly shadow — and eyes the color of the Nile water staring at her through the slits of the mask.

 

***

The small narrow room was illuminated by the dim light of the oil lamp standing on the plain earthen floor. Athiri opened her eyes, still barely aware of her surroundings. But as the familiar warm hand touched her cheek, she remembered her miraculous salvation and saw the beloved face looking down at her. She must have fainted from the shock when she had recognized Mhotep under the horrid mask.

“Can you see me, can you hear my voice?” he asked, bringing a chalice to her lips.

Athiri gave a faint nod and drank hungrily. The refreshing liquid drove away the remaining sickness.

“You have been asleep for so long, my lady. This is the effect of the Labyrinths, I did warn you…” his voice was hoarse with worry.

“I wanted to meet you there for the last time… But I could not find the way out,” she said quietly and impulsively pressed her lips to the palm of his hand.

He closed his eyes, trying not to choke on the overwhelming tenderness — the night was short and he had yet to tell her what mattered the most.

“What have you done to yourself, my sweet Athiri? You could have died under the priest’s knife!” His voice faltered, his eyes glistened.

“But you saved me. You were there.”

“Oh, I would not wish on my worst enemy to ever feel what I felt when I heard that you had been found dead in your chamber on the night before your wedding!” Mhotep’s gaze filled with ache. “I wanted nothing but find your murderers, avenge you and follow you into the Duat… Death held no fear for me, life had no meaning without you…”

Athiri shuddered with her whole body at his words and clung tighter to his hand.

Rendered speechless for a moment, Mhotep breathed out sharply and pressed his precious princess to his chest, soothing her, whispering affectionate words.

“I covered my face with a mask of Anubis and followed the funeral procession, blending with the crowd of priests and wailers,” he continued his story. “Thus, unnoticed, unrecognized, I could mourn you and see you for the last time, even if from a distance. But once we arrived in the temple and I could approach your bed, I noticed that your body remained untouched by decay. The joyous thought dawned on me, and I hid myself to come back and make certain that it was true. Nothing and no one could stop me, and several of Nefer’s henchmen and the chief priest of the Ritual now lie dead in the temple…”

“But the other priests? How did they allow it? And where are we now?” she asked, looking up at him, her eyes full of concern.

“Have no worry, my lady, gold and fear are powerful incentives. I still have loyal friends who helped me hide a great share of the treasures your Godlike father gave me. And their sharp swords convinced the survivors to bow to my will. I brought you to the village of the people who build the royal tombs, the village that have been my safe haven in the past few days. You would be amazed but there are many people faithful to me here, among common stonecutters, painters, chiselers. I wish I could provide you with a more comfortable shelter but there is no safer place, and we have to spend the night here. And come morning…”

“Does it mean that we are finally free now, my Mhotep?!” Athiri interrupted him eagerly. “We can be together until it is time for us to step into the Sky Bark! We shall leave Kemet and go somewhere no one can find us. I shall give you many sons, strong and handsome as Horus, and then, when they have grown, we shall take our revenge upon Nefer and take back the throne of my forefathers!” her voice rang with glee. She touched her beloved's face so reverently, as if she saw him for the first time, and he kept silent, smiling at her sweet daydreaming, sorrow flickering in the depth of his eyes. He had to shatter these naïve dreams with the stark reality. A small caravan was already on its way to their temporary refuge — the princess had to set out at sunrise.

“Your skin is so nice to touch, Mhotep, I have never seen you without a beard,” she whispered all of a sudden, blushing, still stroking his unusually smooth jawline.

“This is to make me less recognizable to my foes, my lady.”

“You do look ten springs younger!” the princess laughed happily, her arms snaking around his neck.

Their lips met in a deliriously long and sweet kiss that they both had dreamed of for so long. He nearly forgot himself, giving her his tender caress, whispering again and again that she was his sun and his stars, nearly lost his sense in the blaze of passion. His soul and his body almost gave in to temptation but his mind was always on guard, a faithful dog watching out for its master.

“Listen to me, o light of my life!” he said finally, forcing himself to stop. “I still cannot lie with you as your husband.”

“But we are free to do whatever we want, my tjati! Now that my death has been mourned by the people no one will look for us and we can go on, hand in hand. Is it not so?” her voice was shaking with despair and foreboding of an imminent calamity.

Mhotep took her hands, carefully kissing the small delicate palms, trying to allay her concern.

“No, we are not yet free… Nothing would make me happier than to say it is so. But Nefer’s jackals are still following my scent. To have me murdered, not to let me live even in exile, that was his plan all along. He was not going to let me go far…”

“But he swore!” cried out Athiri, beside herself with indignation.

“Oh, the most dreadful vows are nothing to a dishonest heart, my lady!” bringing back the memory of her carefree childhood, Mhotep suddenly sounded stern and firm, as though he was explaining to her the intricacies of governing, unfolding ancient scrolls. “After the trial, abiding your sentence, I stepped aboard a ship sailing from the blessed land of Ptah[1], but no sooner had we reached the nearest harbor than I was attacked by Nefer’s assassins. I could not allow them bring joyful news to their master and sent their dark hearts into Ammit’s waiting jaws. This is why I had to return and lay low, while my enemies looked elsewhere. I knew, my Athiri, that my duty was not done until I cleared your palace of the conspirators. The news of your death took this purpose from me and vengeance became the only reason that kept me alive!” Mhotep paused to collect himself.

“You are to set out on a long journey tomorrow,” he said once he mustered enough strength. “My loyal servant Badru will accompany you to Senit — the nomarch there owes me his life and will give you shelter in his home.”

“And you? Are you not going with me?!” Athiri looked at him in disbelief, her lost gaze tearing his soul apart.

“From now onward, my life will be full of darkness and danger, I do not want that for you…”

“No! I wish no other fate than to be with you, Mhotep!” aghast, exclaimed the princess, throwing her arms around his neck, as if she was afraid that he could vanish into thin air. “I am not going to Senit without you! I cannot breathe if you are not by my side!” her shoulders were shaking with suppressed sobs.

“Listen to me, Athiri, listen to me… We shall be together,” he cajoled, holding her delicate figure tight. “We only have to be patient and wise. As soon as you are safe, I shall do everything in my power to defeat Nefer and his confederates. I still have faithful and reliable brothers-in-arms. Together we shall take back your golden throne, and your people will fall on their knees and kiss the ground at the sight of your divine beauty and majesty when you appear in the capital as a sun reborn!”

Athiri could not utter another word, allowing him dry her tears with kisses. Her gaze then turned earnest and resolute. She had always trusted Mhotep with everything but now she would do as her desires told her.

“You are wise as ever, my tjati,” she said, finally placated, her gaze loving and tender. “I shall be an obedient wife who must follow her husband’s will. I shall do everything as you tell me. But first you must make me yours! Our bodies and our souls must become one. I believe that if we share a bed tonight, nothing can ever come between us, in this world or any other. And then… then I shall wait patiently for good tidings from you, however many days and nights may pass!”

Mhotep cast a quick glance on the plain rug on the earthen floor.

“This squalid hut is not worthy of your first night of love, my divine Athiri…” he made one last attempt to stop her. But the princess’s hands flew to her shoulders, untying the rich, gold embroidered kalasiris, her burial garment, and she stood before him in the splendor of her nudity, the goddess Hathor revealing her otherworldly essence to a mere mortal.

“Your chest is my bed, your arms are my walls, your kisses are my air…” she said, reaching for him, and was interrupted by the most passionate, fierce and tender kiss he had ever given her…

 

***

The great Khepri had barely lifted the sun disc above the horizon when the small caravan arrived in the village of the royal tomb builders. The villagers slept a much necessary deep sleep, exhausted by backbreaking daily toil.

Just before the dawn broke, Mhotep carefully woke the princess sleeping on his chest. They shared a modest morning meal as husband and wife, and all the while, Athiri looked at him with a sun-bright smile, despite all that awaited them. In those last minutes together, they spoke not of the imminent long separation or of the trials and dangers that they were to overcome. Their fate now lay in the hands of the gods, and they truly believed in the divine power, knowing that they were meant to reunite again, if not in this mortal life, then in the rich fields of the luminous Ra.

When the time came, Mhotep helped Athiri into a small closed palanquin that was safely attached to a camel’s back, checked the harness and gave the last orders to the camel drivers and to his loyal Badru who stood a few steps behind, not daring glance at the princess.

Before giving the command to go, the former vizier leant over his august wife’s hand in a reverent gesture and pressed a tender kiss to it, his fingers lingering around her trembling ones. Would he see his Athiri again? Would he hear her wonderful bright laughter in this life?

“Shed no tears, my sweetest,” he said as he saw her eyes well up. “My little, delicate but so brave wife. Do not grieve and always remember — if you blossom, so may I blossom as a living plant. In death and immortality I am your faithful servant…”

Their fingers unlinked at last, Mhotep gave a quick, almost imperceptible sign, and the caravan took off, leaving far behind in the south the valley of royal tombs and the outline of the capital visible on the other bank of the Great River.

The sacred Scarab began its daily journey, helping the newborn sun across the firmament. The life-giving light shone on the blessed land of Ptah again.

For a long, long time stood Tjati Mhotep under the rising sun, peering into the distance with a heavy heart, his gaze following the receding caravan until it shrank to a dot and disappeared beyond the horizon.

 

[1] In Egyptian mythology, Ptah is the demiurge of Memphis, god of craftsmen and architects.


	9. Immortality. Part 2

© [Catelyn May](https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100016771998221)

 

“Are you going to sit here all night?” Daisy’s voice jerked Will out of an hour-long stupor he had been frozen in under the tarpaulin roof of his tent.

Ancient papyrus scrolls found in the opened tomb earlier that day were now neatly lined up in front of the scientist. Daisy stared at his desk — the precious box lined with gold plates on which the judgment of Osiris was depicted had been sealed with tar when it had been pulled from the tomb with the other artefacts.

“Damn you, Will! You unsealed the most valuable find just like that, like some kind of thief? Even I wouldn’t think to do that! Are you insane? If those fellows from the Egyptian government find out tomorrow, we won’t be allowed to touch a single stone here!” she blurted out when no answer came from her old friend and colleague, with whom she had plunged fearlessly into so many adventurous expeditions over the years.

“Yes, I am well aware of that… It’s just, you see, I had to see them.”

“Why is that, if I may be so bold?” Daisy’s shock was gradually turning into acrid anger. “Couldn’t you wait till morning?”

“I don’t know how to explain it… I can’t… I felt something in that tomb today, something very strange, I need to sort it all out…” William wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose and took a sip from the plastic cup. That was when Daisy noticed the open bottle of brandy by his desk.

“Oh no, Will, you are just drunk. How is this a habit now, drinking alone? Today is the day of our triumph, we have waited for so many years, everybody’s celebrating, and you just leave the team to hole up here!”

“I’m sorry, Daisy. I really need to be alone right now.”

“Alright, I’m going to leave you alone — if you promise you’ll get a good night’s sleep at least tonight. Tomorrow will be hell, with the press and ministerial officials. One more thing… when you’re done drooling, you archaeological maniac,” she added, heading for the exit, “please put these papyri away. No one must see them here.”

“You wish is my command, may Amun’s power and Thoth’s wisdom be with you.” Will bowed his head in a theatrical gesture. Daisy rolled her eyes and gave a loud snort, getting out of the tent.

Lost in utter fascination, William studied again the mysterious messages that had remained hidden in stone under tons of sand for thousands of years, his sinewy fingers gently touching the tight yellow scrolls. They would have to work meticulously if they wanted to find out the contents without damaging the papyri.

How could he explain to Daisy and to himself the fact that he saw, that he knew they had been waiting for him there, in that elaborately inlayed creation of an unknown master, in the tomb of the mysterious queen of the Great Kingdom. Long before the preparations for the future expedition had started, in restless brief half-sleep, surrounded by monographs, maps, artefacts, over and over again, he repeated the same motion, opening this very box and taking out the precious writings.

The papyrus was perfectly preserved but it was a crime to extract the invaluable manuscripts like that, like a barbarian, without special lab equipment. What was he thinking indeed?! Where was his common sense?

Probably gone the moment his gaze fell on the writing carved on the tomb wall — when he realized he knew its meaning, when he felt the touch of delicate narrow shoulders pressed to his chest, as though looking for support. How he wished for this moment to linger, so that he could breathe in unison with this odd ambitious girl that had stormed into his life out of the blue. To feel her beside him, to breathe in the fragrance of her hair, this gentle, touching flowery scent that seemed so out of place with her assertive and forceful nature…

William closed his eyes, trying to understand why he was not outside right now, surrounded by dozens of excited voices, laughter and agitated conversation, among his colleagues, volunteers, workers celebrating their involvement in the great discovery. Why wasn’t he next to her?

He might have dozed off for a while — no wonder, given the late hour and the brandy. What would she say if he took the chance and asked her out? To sneak out, just the two of them, and go into the city… Rubbish, rubbish, he’d never do that. How old is she anyway? Daisy showed him her resume once. A little over twenty! About the age of his students… “Welcome to the aging lotharios’ club, Will Lamb!” he  said to himself tartly and heard the familiar voice coming through the barely closed flap of his tent.

“Hello? May I? Professor Lamb, you’re not asleep, are you?”

“Alexandra? No, I’m not. Why are you--” he turned round to meet the familiar pair of eyes glinting at him with curiosity in the dim light of the lantern.

“Almost everybody left, so I thought-- How are you feeling?”

“Thank you. I’m fine. Why are you asking?” Will rose from his favorite folding chair.

“It’s just you sneaked away and never came back to our little party. And this is your party, your victory. Isn’t it?”

“Well, maybe, in theory. But without Daisy, without our entire team, without you…” he paused, his throat suddenly dry, “this crazy idea wouldn't have amounted to anything.” 

She stared, the gaze of her beautiful wide eyes fixed on his face. The excited twinkle inside and the flushed face betrayed his late guest’s condition. There had been enough champagne delivered today for the entire team to celebrate the success of the expedition.

“No, I’m sure it was meant to be you. Something like a sacred mission a person has to accomplish on earth. I know you are a hardcore skeptic,” she smiled, a little absent-mindedly. “But I always thought there are many things in life that can’t be explained by science. I always admired your work! And today was so special… and… thank you for letting me be there.”

“Not at all, you are an excellent assistant and you deserved this, Alexandra,” he gave her a soft smile, suddenly embarrassed by such an enthusiastic confession.

The distance between them seemed to be closing by itself.

“Can I ask you something else?”

“Go ahead.”

“You could understand what was written under the sign of the Sacred Scarab, didn’t you?”

“Beautiful words…” he said after a brief pause, the same wave of emotions that he had felt when they examined the burial chamber together washing over him again.

“If you blossom, so may I…” she startled him, coming to stand so very close, already feeling his uneven breath making his chest expand beneath the cotton shirt. The top of her head barely reached his collarbones.

“…blossom as a living plant…” he continued against his will, unable to look away from her. Blush painted the delicate skin of her cheeks bright pink, enchanting sparks danced mysteriously in the irises of her eyes.

“In death and immortality…” she said, touching his chest, standing on her toes, her burning face turned to him, as though looking for an answer, stunning them both with this courage and not daring to back down.

“…I am your faithful servant…” his voice hitched and fell into hoarseness, and an invisible string broke, releasing something ancient, eternal, scorching hot like molten lead, something above and beyond earthly laws. Their lips met — drawn together despite the voice of reason that Will had been listening all of a minute ago, as if he had always lived only to touch her someday, like a pilgrim that found the Promised Land.

The voices in the camp around them were dying out with the last flickering lights. The Valley of the Kings sank into its dignified peace. And everything suddenly felt unimportant, insignificant and faded, leaving no room for anything but the deep feeling that filled them with the joy of finding, recognition, return. She responded to his every caress and kiss, driving him to the edge of unthinkable rapture. All he could hear now was her stuttering breath, incoherent intense whisper, ragged muffled half-sobs, half-moans — and he suddenly realized that it was her first time. Her courage was artificial, deceptive. He stopped, stunned by the discovery, his gaze stern, questioning, but her eyes showed him the scorching fire that left no way out. At one point Will could still hear the faint voice of his reasonable self calling out through the fog of the sweet madness but no, he had no more power over his body and soul today. As though under the sway of some unknown spell, he scooped her up in his strong arms which were so used to the hard work at the site that almost didn’t feel the weight of her slight body and carried her to his ascetic camp bed…

 

***

An hour or so before the sunrise, William resurfaced from a semblance of sleep. He sat up and looked at Alexandra who was lying peacefully by his side. He wished he didn’t have to wake her now — so sweet and carefree was the embrace of sleep around her delicate figure barely covered with a thin blanket. But she should be in her tent before anyone in the camp got up; gossip was the last thing he wanted for her.

 _Sweet crazy girl, what have you done to me, to us both?_ he thought, unable to resist the instantaneous surge of tender affection, and leant forward to press a few light kisses to her warm shoulder. She immediately reached for him in a drowsy response.

How could he just follow his instincts? He, a grown experienced man? Where was his cold mind, his restraint? Perhaps she caught him off guard, and alcohol didn’t help either…

For the past few weeks, even though William hadn't dared admit it to himself, his eyes searched for her; he kept making up all kinds of excuses to keep her by his side for as long as possible. Yet he never allowed himself to think about getting her into his bed, not in earnest — let alone being her first man!

 _But how extraordinary it is that she was innocent before the last night. Most girls her age these days lose their virginity by the time they graduate from university…_ At this thought, guilt raised its heavy head and wound its coils around his heart. The worst of all was that as he looked at her snuffling quietly in his bed, so warm and trusting, he could barely suppress the returning and rapidly growing desire and almost hated himself for it.

Alexandra stretched on the mattress, reluctantly opened her eyes, winced and flashed him a most disarming smile.

“Morning!” she said simply.

“Morning…” Will gave the perfunctory answer, avoiding her gaze. The guilt wouldn’t go away. He should have stopped it before it was too late, he should have sent her away to her own bed! A terrible, unforgiveable mistake…

Alexandra tensed up, as though his thoughts were written on his suddenly somber face.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, everything is great,” he lied with a soft smile.

“In that case, I want a kiss!” she narrowed her eyes slyly and gave a playful sigh, reaching for him.

William touched her lips lightly and carefully brushed strands of hair from her face, watching her expression tensely.

“Are you okay? I mean… are you feeling okay?” he asked suddenly.

“Perfect. Why, don’t I look okay?”

“I behaved like an animal, I’m sorry…”

“If I may — it was an extremely tender and passionate beast,” she chuckled. “And I woudn’t mind at all if it returned.” The murmur of her voice prickled his skin like electricity.

Will almost groaned. How does she do this, how does she keep taking down all the walls put up by his common sense?

“The sun will be up soon, you should go back to your tent,” he stroked her cheek soothingly, trying to recover.

She stared at the tent window covered with thick mosquito net. Indeed, there wasn’t much time left.

He helped her dress, although it took quite an effort to find all the items of clothing scattered all over his camp home. She put her arms around his neck for the last time and William, drowning in the intoxicating haze again, had to force himself to break the long scorching kiss. A mischievous smile playing on her lips, the young woman sneaked out of the tent, leaving him in a very confusing state of absolute bliss and utter misery, every cell of his body filled with her, like a famished soil lavished with long-anticipated pouring rain.

 

***

William was still poring over his reports that were to be submitted to the Egyptian Antiquities Organization[1], the agency overseeing the progress of the expedition, on the morning of the following day. He had hurled himself into work trying not to be left alone with his thoughts, avoiding the memories of the previous night that would melt away his willpower if he only let them.

The meeting with the local officials and the press was a success. The experts seemed satisfied with the set-up of the site, the mobile lab and the finds brought up from the tomb. They discussed and resolved all issues related to the transportation, further description and study of the new artefacts.

“The heat is unbearable today. I’ve always hated heat. How the hell did I end up an Egyptologist…” Daisy wearily plopped herself down on the folding chair next to William. “It’s all your fault, you know!” she concluded. “You and your fiery eyes and all the talk about the Valley of the Kings!”

“It was a pure calculation on my part, because no one could have arranged this madness better than you. Of course I did my best to charm you,” he deadpanned.

“You cheat!” she raised her voice, feigning anger.

“I hope we have observed all formalities today and they will allow us to work in peace, without all this fuss?” he asked, back to business.

“Not quite, Will. We have another visitor. I didn’t want to distract you, but I’ve received a telegram this morning. George Kent is coming here, in person. Wants to see his baby girl and, while he’s at it, to check out the fruits of his investment. I can see you are not amused,” she nodded, watching her friend’s expression. “But what can I do? He is one of the main sponsors of our expedition.”

“When?” William croaked.

“Late afternoon, I think. He has some business in Cairo, so he won’t be here long. He asked for a couple of days off for Alexandra.”

“Out of the question, there’s too much work to be done, I don’t have anyone to replace her with. You know that!”

“Will, look at me. You haven’t been yourself since yesterday. Did something happen between you two?”

“Daisy!”

“I’m not blind or deaf!”

“You’re having a sunstroke.”

“The hell I am. You’re not fooling me, William Lamb, with this look of yours, like a cat that got the cream.”

“You really are insufferable sometimes, you know that?”

“I do. Unfortunately, I’m never wrong.”

William didn’t answer, lost for words. Denying it was pointless, and so was believing that Daisy could have missed the very obvious absence of one Alexandra Kent in her tent. Sancta simplicitas, God knows what he had expected to happen.

“I was so happy that this girl pulled you out of your shell you kept growing after Carrie left, but I never suspected you’d go this far… Be careful. Her daddy will be less than ecstatic if he gets a whiff of this… More than that, I’m pretty sure he’d bury you, all your papyri and your academic career in this precious tomb.”

“I can imagine… If I were him…”

“I hope you both will be sensible! At least you, if it so happens that the date of birth in your passport precedes hers by a couple of decades.”

“You have nothing to worry about...” William said very gravely, turning back to his reports and mentally counting the times Alex’s small warm hand had accidentally on purpose found its way into his during this long day… smiling as he remembered all the covert glances from under the sun-bleached bucket hat… wondering how on earth he would be able to control himself if she sneaked into his tent again like a little nimble creature of the night.

 

 

***

When the evening fell, the administrative tent was buzzing with animated discussion. Professor Lamb, his research assistants and the invited Egyptian experts argued about the work to be done in the tomb and the unsealing of the top granite sarcophagus. It was not an easy task and they needed a clear and safe plan of actions.

Alexandra sat next to Daisy, watching the debate, when a lean middle-aged man dressed in a light sharp suit stepped under the canopy that served as the field conference hall. She stared at the newcomer in astonishment as he greeted everyone with a barely noticeable nonchalant nod.

“And you must be our new Howard Carter[2]!” he exclaimed rather theatrically, coming closer to William. “How wonderful to finally make a personal acquaintance, Professor!”

William held out a hand to George Kent, trying to hide his annoyance. People who unceremoniously invaded a discussion always got on his nerves. Only then did he notice the tall figure of a young man looming behind the almighty sponsor of the expedition.

The young man did not stay in shadows long. He marched to Alexandra, casually wrapped an arm around her waist, kissed her on the cheek and leant to her ear, whispering something in a very excited manner. She froze on the spot, not daring to look at Will who looked away immediately.

Kent eyed his daughter carefully, then turned to Lamb and said with a smile, “I hope the big bosses will allow my daughter spend a couple of days with her fiancé? I’m afraid she might soon turn into a mummy herself. I never imagined that Alex could stay in such conditions for so long.” His gaze swept across the khaki painted walls and the board tables and benches as he lowered his voice. “It was a whim, a caprice so to speak. I found myself unable to say no,” he explained, as if William had asked for an explanation, and added with a pleased smile, throwing a glance at his daughter and the young man, “A splendid couple, aren’t they?”

Silence.

“Well, when are you going to demonstrate me your outstanding finds, gentlemen and ladies?” Kent said with marked fervor, oblivious to Professor Lamb’s state of mind, while the latter was itching to introduce something very heavy to the visitor’s imperturbable smiling face.

 

 

[1] That’s a damn shame that it wasn’t called Supreme Council of Antiquities until 1994. I think “Supreme Council of Antiquities” sounds way cooler than “Egyptian Antiquities Organization”.

[2] If you know your Egyptology, the name probably needs no explanation, but if you’re like me, here is another perfunctory quote from Wiki: Howard Carter was a British archaeologist and Egyptologist who became world-famous after discovering the intact tomb of Tutankhamun in 1922.


	10. Isetnofret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please note that this is chapter 10 - don't miss chapter 9 (i posted two on the same night)!

When the dawn set the horizon ablaze, heralding the new birth of the Great Sun God, Mhotep looked over the scribbled writings once again. It seemed as though symbols lined up into neat rows all on their own. For many days on end had he labored on the poem, his gift to his beloved mistress. In these verses, he was telling her the story of his autumn love and passion, the story that would live in eternity and glorify the Great Isetnofret[1] — the beautiful Isis. This was the name Athiri would take upon her accession to the throne as the queen.

The vizier winced. He had been suffering from chest pains for the past several days. They won in the last and decisive encounter with Nefer’s people but the victory cost Mhotep’s supporters many lives. The Syrians hired by the usurper as his personal bodyguards had the tips of their arrows soaked in poison. Mhotep and his skillful assistant easily extracted the deadly stings from the wounds of his warriors, but it took him all his knowledge of poisons to counteract the effect of the potion and bring them to life. Mhotep himself received a glancing blow of a dagger and did not notice it in the heat of the battle, did not treat the wound at once and spent many days thrashing in fever, preparing to face the judgement of Osiris. But the scale swayed a little and the great gods decided to keep him in this world so that he could finish the work of his life.

“Athiri shall be queen,” he kept telling himself stubbornly in the hour of mortal danger and in the hour of the wildest despair when he and the handful of his people had to hide from Nefer’s hounds in the most miserable hovels of the capital. He, the once almighty semi-lord of the Egyptian land, had to swallow his anger and pride and bow to the greedy power-seeking priests, to force and bribe the corrupt, weak-willed dignitaries to buy them over.

The most dangerous and unpredictable step on the way to the desired goal was Mhotep’s secret meeting with General Djehuty[2]. He had known this fearless warrior for a long time but still preferred to stay vigilant. However the success of the future insurrection depended on this man and the vizier had to use the full force of his persuasion and eloquence to assure Djehuty that countless graces would be bestowed upon the general and his men in return for their support, that Queen Isetnofret would never forget those who helped her restore the legitimate authority.

The meeting was to take place under cover of the night, in the valley of royal tombs. The almost desolate place was favored by all kinds of conspirators as the venue of their secret congregations. The general resisted, not wishing to expose himself and his men to mortal danger because of the power struggle between courtiers. But several moons had passed and he saw that Nefer was now a slave to insanity, that the blind rage of the self-proclaimed king would soon fall on the heads of those who had stood by the throne of the Godlike for many years. At first, Mhotep’s unexpected news that Princess Athiri had lived and was rallying those willing to serve one true divine bloodline made Djehuty doubtful. Nevertheless, he knew that he would have to pick a side sooner rather than later, otherwise the flame of the fierce fight for the throne would devour him as well. Besides, Mhotep was the only one who had never betrayed him in the many years of his service to the pharaoh. When the signal was given, they made the final arrangements and parted ways as allies.

With the assistance of his secret followers in the palace, it did not take Mhotep long to find all the weak spots in Nefer’s entourage. Now that everyone believed the princess to be dead, a red-hot struggle for power between Rahotep’s many natural offspring and their supporters flared up. Frantic and furious as a rabid jackal, Nefer fought to retain the power but five moons later the golden throne was already drenched in blood. The list of casualties of this undeclared war grew longer by each passing day, with executions becoming more frequent and more brutal. The crocodiles could not eat quickly enough, swimming in the remains of the unfortunate thrown by Nefer’s hangmen into the enormous pit outside the palace walls. New conspiracies blossomed like flowers in spring. Mhotep only had to wait patiently for Nefer’s authority to finally drown in blood and for the people to grow tired of living in perpetual fear. Wait and prepare the finishing move.

Thus, for many months, spending his days in endless labor, the former tjati planned Athiri’s return. Her miraculous salvation and rebirth would be predicted by Amun’s priests who were generously remunerated for their efforts. Messengers flew to all nomes of Egypt, their thunderous voices filling markets, temples, huts and palaces with the words of the prophesy of the impending resurrection of Rahotep’s Godlike daughter whose face is sun-like, of her accession putting an end to the lawlessness and restoring peace and prosperity in the blessed land of Ptah.

One day, Mhotep’s loyal spies told him that the never-ending fear of conspiracies had driven Nefer to madness and he killed his own concubines and children. The long-awaited hour had finally come. In the dead of night Mhotep’s men found their way into the royal palace and fought the guards. Nefer and his now very scarce henchmen were finished in the matter of hours. Now it was time for the next step to the return of Rahotep’s rightful heiress. Dignitaries Ahmose and Semni, who had survived the carnage and remained loyal to Mhotep, followed through with the grand plan. At the hour the divine Khepri awoke, as the tjati himself was teetering on the brink of death, they stood joined by the priests and the army before the people and announced the return of the true queen — Isetnofret.

Mhotep pushed the papyrus aside and felt his heartbeat quicken. He counted the pulse on his wrist. Perhaps his body was still weak from the wound or he was too excited thinking about Athiri’s arrival. Throughout these endless months, he kept seeing her in the brief moments of troubled sleep, so delicate, tender, beautiful, bright as the sun, the thought of her giving him strength and hope…

He closed his eyes, his memory taking him back to those long-gone days when she, a carefree child, had played here, in this chamber, with her ever-present companion Djer, trying to catch the bright-colored fishes in the pond, looking over the elaborate murals in fascination, making up her own legends for what they depicted. He ordered to capture all these scenes from his memories on the murals of her future tomb, where skillful hands of craftsmen would draw the story of her life from the early childhood to her becoming and her grandeur.

He smiled at the memory of her merry laughter spilling in the air, healing his soul, her every move, her smile, the twinkle in her beautiful eyes, the silk of her skin and the subtle fragrance of lotus in her hair… the day he had seen her fantastic transformation and felt the power her femininity over himself… Love of his life, his pain and his joy, his downfall and his salvation… his precious little Athiri, his majestic august wife.

Suddenly, through the haze of half-slumber, Mhotep thought that he heard a mocking mad laughter.

“Do you believe that you have fooled your fate, Vizier? No, no, no. She will never be yours, not in this life, not in any other. You will find her and you will run from her! Again and again, circle by circle. Pitiful scarab!”

Mhotep flinched, woken by his own loud groan. His brow was covered with beads of cold sweat, his breathing labored. With an effort, he pried his eyelids open and gestured to the manservant to come closer. The Master of Court Ceremonies was brought to him on his terse command to confirm that the court was ready to welcome the Godlike, who had already sent messengers with her first orders to the palace, with proper honors.

He smiled faintly at the joyous news, feeling strength flooding from his body with every second, with every move.

“What are the orders of the Resplendent Isetnofret?” he asked quietly as the Master of Ceremonies bowed before him, enjoying the sound of her new regnal name that he had longed to say all this time[3].

“My lord, she ordered for two golden thrones to be put up in the ceremonial hall…”

 

 

[1] In our reality, Isetnofret was one of the wives of Ramesses II — and an important one, like Nefertari.

[2] There actually was a real live Djehuty, a general under Tut.

[3] Am I the only one who hears an echo of that very first quiet “Queen Victoria” here?


	11. Immortality. Part 3

“Don’t even think about it! I’m not going anywhere! Now, at the crucial stage of the dig, when we’re about to unseal the sarcophagus?!” Alexandra was breathless with agitation, nose wrinkled in outrage, arms folded across her chest. That was her usual response to her father’s complete disregard of her interests and plans. “And why on earth have you brought Albert with you?”

“Why are you getting so worked up about this, Alex?! You have been engaged for a year. Aren’t you happy to see your fiancé? To spend a couple of days with him? I thought it was a brilliant idea!”

“Yes, but I have other things on my mind. I have dreamed to being a part of such an expedition since I was a little girl! I can’t think of anything else right now, please understand this!”

“Alright, but you will have to tell Albert yourself. I seriously doubt he will be delighted by your decision. He has low tolerance for the local climate and yet he has come to see you. I believe that deserves at least some respect.”

Alexandra huffed.

“That is a big point in his favor, I agree.”

“What is really the matter, my dear? It hasn’t been a month since you could talk of no one and nothing else but him.”

“Everything’s changed… I’ve changed… I need time to sort out my feelings for Albert. And this surprise visit made things even more… complicated.”

George Kent’s face changed expression, the tall lean figure, the chiseled hard face and the mesmerizing stare of the extraordinary green eyes of the man he had met earlier that day suddenly vivid in his mind. The pieces of the jigsaw puzzle came together. Yes, he did look exactly the type to turn heads of enthralled students like Alex. But George did not give his concerns away. The last thing he needed was to voice his suspicions and face Alex’s mulish obstinacy. No, finesse and caution were the name of the game. He had to bring her mind back on track. Hopefully, things hadn’t gone too far.

“Of course you are free to do as you please, but if not Albert then I deserve some of my daughter’s attention, don’t I? I must remind you that so far I have done everything you asked for, even if it contradicted my own plans.”

Alex looked down, realizing how selfish she was being. If it wasn’t for her father, she wouldn’t be here, in the heart of ancient Egypt. If it wasn’t for his generous financial contribution, the dig would have been postponed indefinitely, and the discovery that was to shake the world archaeology might have never been made. But one insistent thought pulsed in her head. She had to explain everything to William as soon as possible. God knows what he thought about her now that he had met Albert.

“I promise I’ll think about it and tell you by tonight, father,” she said quickly and stood on tiptoe to give him a peck on the cheek.

“I hope you will make the right decision.”

 

***

Alexandra burst into William Lamb’s field “office” and found him arguing with Daisy, rather animatedly. They had resumed the recent discussion of the unsealing of the sarcophagus and the first discovered artefacts that had been so suddenly interrupted by George Kent’s arrival. Daisy, wise Daisy noticed the girl and how nervous she was and immediately left the two of them alone under the excuse of some urgent business she had to attend to in the camp.

But William didn’t move from his desk, his nose buried in his notes, as if he didn’t see Alex.

“Are you still here, Miss Kent?” he asked, his voice cold and detached. Alex was about to break into tears from despair.

“I want to explain everything… Of course, I should have told you before we… But I--”

“No need to explain, Alexandra,” his voice was tinged with sadness now. “You don’t have to. Let’s call what has happened between us just temporary insanity. It’s nobody’s fault but my own. I’m older, I’m more experienced, I should’ve stopped this. I’m sorry…”

“You’re sorry?!” Alex didn’t know what to say. Words froze in her mouth, a stinging pain constricting her chest, her eyes glistening, a barely suppressed anger rising up. “And none of it means anything, does it?!”

“If you look at it clinically, we were both a bit drunk and the euphoria of the discovery went to our heads… It was a mistake, Miss Kent, a mistake we should forget about as soon as possible and…”

Before he finished the sentence, Alexandra shot out of his tent, barely holding back sobs which she finally let escape once she was a fair way away from the camp, in the safety of the sand and rocks. _It’s not true, not true, not true!_ the booming echo kept throbbing in her head. She hoped that William would chase her, that he would catch up with her and stop her and hold her tight to his chest and never let her go, as they do in the old movies. But there was no one around, no one and nothing but a voiceless, noiseless desert watching her despair and pain with the impassive tranquility of eternity.

Later, resigned, she returned to her tent and packed the clothes she needed for the trip, in complete silence, furiously shoving them into her backpack. When she finally managed to get her emotions under control, she scribbled a brief note for her father. _I’m going to bed, I have a terrible headache. Have_ _dinner_ _without_ _me_ _._ _I_ _’_ _m_ _all_ _packed_ _._ _We_ _’_ _re_ _leaving_ _at_ _dawn_ _._ _Alex_ _._ She handed the note to a boy from the camp’s maintenance staff, determinately drew the flap of her tent close and pulled the blanket over her head to fall into troubled sleep — but not before she made a promise to herself to a) break off her engagement to Albert, and b) come back to the camp and convince her stubborn professor that none of what had happened last night was a mistake and that her heart had been in his sole possession for a long time now.

William Lamb sat at his desk all night long and finally emptied the bottle of brandy left unfinished the day before, making up new excuses for the way he had acted with Alex. When he was told that George Kent, his daughter and her fiancé had left the camp early in the morning, he said to himself that he had made the right decision, it was as it should be. How could he even think that a young woman like Alexandra Kent was free? In her world, marriages were still made not in heaven but in a lawyer’s office. No, it was bad enough that he had stormed into her life and given in to her imaginary infatuation. He would not ruin her safe and blissful preplanned glossy future. What he had done the night before — that was right. He had done everything just right. …But God knows, never in his life had his heart burned with such a scorching, devastating pain that made him want to howl, loudly, violently, desperately, like a wounded beast. The pain wouldn’t go away, it wouldn’t drown in brandy, and he knew, oh, he knew that he would carry it inside for a long time, like an ancient curse cast by a vindictive soul.

 

***

 _Can’t the blasted car go faster?_ thought Alexandra. She was seriously annoyed. Had her father instructed his driver to go slow as a turtle or was it just her imagination acting up because of the growing nervous tension?

Three more hours on the road, three whole hours! Instead of just two days, she had gone on an unscheduled “leave” for almost four days. The thought pulsed in Alex’s temples, a quiet impotent frustration sitting like a splinter in her head. She hadn’t exchanged a word with her father since the previous night.

A cold silence hung in the car; George Kent was visibly distressed but kept himself as businesslike as ever. He could have hardly imagined that his present for his girl and her fiancé, a small cruise on a specially chartered yacht, would end in such a colossal scene. His little lie about the actual duration of the trip created major problems when Alexandra found out that she would not be back in the camp until this evening. The worst part was that she had stabbed George in the back by breaking off her engagement to Albert. It was a turn that George Kent, who was used to having complete control over everything, could have never foreseen.

The marriage between Albert Coburg and Alexandrina Kent was a long-decided matter. Two of the wealthiest and most powerful families in England had been pushing their offspring to this union since they were still in the cradle, hoping to preserve and strengthen the foundation of the financial empire built by several generations. And all those plans went down the drain overnight. The ever obedient and compliant Alex made him face the facts and never really explained her reasons: she was not going to marry Albert, the bright intellectual with a bright future, and she had already made the young man aware of her decision after lunch, without asking her father’s opinion first.

George nervously drummed his fingers on the lid of his expensive cigarette case, trying to keep up the calm façade and not attempt to speak to Alex, who sat with her face to the window the entire ride back. She clearly could not wait to see the familiar outline of the archaeological camp she had left three days previously. Her father cursed his bad judgment. It was too careless and naïve of him to forget how fickle and changeable youth could be.

Alex thought back to the uneasy conversation she had had with Albert. It all happened spontaneously and she was probably a touch too unceremonious. She had never seen this ever refined and collected Oxford graduate in such a fury. It was not a clockwork heart that ticked under the immaculately ironed blazer after all — a quietly smoldering volcano of emotions erupted right into Alex’s face. He had caught a change in her as soon as he arrived in the camp and took her disconnected explosive explanations with unflappable composure at first. His celestial blue gaze, however, betrayed the anxiety raging inside him, his face changing color a few times from pale pink to crimson as he grappled with his emotions. But once Alex finished her speech, she heard everything Albert thought of her, the spoilt frivolous daddy’s girl of questionable morals who had been expertly stringing him along for years, playing with his feelings, apparently for her father’s benefit. Particularly tense points of his accusatory monologue were interspersed with elaborate German expressions, the unflattering meaning of which Alex caught intuitively. Her injured pride didn’t allow her to retreat. The man standing in front of her now was not the same person she had known since they were children. Even if it were emotions speaking (who knows how she would act in a situation like this were their roles reversed?), Albert Coburg showed his true face and she wanted to run away from this face as far and as soon as she could.

“I hope you will come to your senses eventually, and pray God it doesn’t happen too late!” her father’s goodbye words barely came through to her. Her mind was preoccupied with something else entirely. She pictured it all so clearly: stepping into William's field office, boldly coming closer and pressing herself against his broad chest, and telling him everything that had been festering in her mind in those endless days.

“I will never ever come to my senses, daddy,” Alex said to herself, stepping out of the car, flashed a conciliatory smile at her father and marched to the familiar rows of tents.

The first thing that rubbed her the wrong way was the lack of the usual bustle and hustle in the camp. No volunteers, no workers, no locals who would come to gawk or give a hand to the archaeologists, and half as many tents. Alex felt a foreboding worming its way into her heart.

That was when she noticed Daisy hurrying somewhere with a large box in her arms and an extremely perplexed look on her face.

Daisy, who obviously had not expected her sudden arrival, almost dropped her load.

“Alex? I didn’t think you were coming back…”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Didn’t you receive the cable yesterday morning? I sent it to the address on your father’s business card?”

“No, I have no idea what you’re talking about…”

Daisy finally put the box down and Alexandra caught a glimpse of several books and stationery that belonged to Professor Lamb.

“You’re packing? What is this supposed to mean?”

“Come on, let’s have this conversation someplace more appropriate. It’s hot as hell out here,” Daisy said calmly, pointing to the canopy of the camp mess.

“Where is Professor Lamb?” Alexandra didn’t let up.

“Not here.”

“What’s happened? What’s wrong with him?” Alex very nearly shouted, not caring what the older woman might think. But Daisy only gave her a stern look and seated her down, almost by force.

“Let’s not get crazy, Miss Kent. William is in Cairo, he’s trying to handle our problem. The day before yesterday, just as we had planned, we started to unseal the sarcophagus. You can imagine the gravity of the moment. You can also imagine our disappointment and astonishment when we didn’t find a trace of the mummy in the last wooden sarcophagus…”

“But how is that possible?!” Alex was shocked.

“We don’t know. They used to entomb empty sarcophagi with the real one, but there was only one here. This could be a false tomb to sidetrack robbers. It’s not uncommon. Then again, the one we found being truly a work of art, it’s hard to imagine the magnificence of the real tomb! I have never seen anything like it in my twenty years in archaeology…”

“And what exactly are those problems that Professor went away to handle?”

“They don’t believe us, Alex. The Egyptian Antiquities Organization demanded that we stop the dig until the circumstances of the mummy’s disappearance are clarified. Will was suspended as the expedition leader.”

“This is ridiculous! What does it have to do with you?! It’s just a mystery of the ancient, a puzzle to solve!”

Daisy heaved a sigh.

“If only it was that simple… It wasn’t just a bombshell that the authority expected from us, they wanted a scientific breakthrough of the decade… Will phoned me, he was very angry and upset. I hope he will be able to convince the officials after all and use his connections to resume the work of our team at least next year.”

“Oh no! A whole year! Isn’t there anything we can do?” Alexandra peered into Daisy’s face, searching for a glimmer of hope.

“We can pack — we _should_ pack, actually, there’s not much time left. We are all leaving the day after tomorrow, the dig will be frozen, pending action by the Egyptian authorities.”

“What about Professor Lamb?”

Daisy gently touched Alex’s hand and looked in her flustered face with sympathy.

“We’re flying out from Cairo straight to London as soon as the circumstances allow. He has no reason to stay here and the sight of this desolation could hardly infuse anyone with optimism… For now, he asked me to arrange the dismantling of the camp and bring him everything he needs for the follow-up work.”

The fire went out of Alexandra’s eyes. She gasped for air, trying not to burst into tears.

“But there must be an explanation, a key, _some_ clue…”

“William may or may not find the answer in the papyri we have found in the tomb. This sort of scrolls usually contain only texts from the Book of the Dead and nothing else.”

“Were there any other unusual finds besides the traditional texts? Like a shabti with inscriptions, or some jewelry?”

“Well, now that you mention it, there was this one odd thing. Will and I and Mr. Mohammad never agreed on what it could be. We found it in the last wooden sarcophagus. It’s a small pouch with smooth polished oval and round stones varying in size. They might have been used for some kind of game or divination. Mr. Mohammad promised to check if there are similar objects in the vaults of his museum and if anything like this was mentioned in the texts dating to the Middle Kingdom.”

“Where are they now?”

“We have handed them over to the Cairo Museum with the rest of the finds. I hope to get to studying and describing them with Will when the dust settles. Provided, of course, that our Egyptian friend doesn’t lose his position by then.”

Lost for words, Alexandra sat across Daisy. There were no emotions or thoughts, she felt hollow inside, save for the very tangible pain that she came to know not so long ago, after that fight with William, the pain that she couldn’t banish from her heart as hard as she tried.

So, fate did not want her to take an easy path to happiness. The man that was more precious to her than anything in the world now seemed as unreachable as the tops of the pyramids on the horizon of the sun-melted desert. But it’s not impossible, you _can_ climb it if you want it, she told herself. Just don’t look down.


	12. Lamentation of Isis

By noon, when the sun rose over the mortals in all its majestic splendor, a magnificent procession appeared at the gate of the capital. People in the streets dropped to their knees and prostrated themselves in reverent awe before the princess that they had sent off to immortality only months previously. The priests kept saying tirelessly that the gods had taken mercy on the people of Kemet and allowed the Godlike to return from Eternity in the same manner as the sun is reborn in the sky every morning.

Was it faith guiding the crowd that welcomed the beautiful Isetnofret or rather hope of deliverance from tyranny and lawlessness brought on by the turmoil? One thing was beyond any doubt — the new era began for the blessed land of Ptah.

Athiri wore an exquisite garment made by the best jewelers and tailors. It sparkled in the sunlight, turning the young woman into a living manifestation of Isis herself, whose golden statues stood in temples and shrines. Treated with special ointments, her skin had taken on a golden shade as well. The luxuriant palanquin carrying the new queen was decorated with flower garlands and rested on the shoulders of eighteen tall and strong Nubian slaves.

The procession was headed and flanked by Djehuty’s battle chariots. The general himself was riding beside the royal palanquin, peering into the crowd of kneeling people with the eyes of a vigilant kite, searching for tiniest suspicious details, ready to attack any adversary. He had been the one to bring the news of victory to Isetnofret, to inform her that the army, the priests and the dignitaries would support her return to her father’s throne. He had personally escorted her all the way from Senit too.

Mhotep had worked out all the details of today’s festivities, the order and the make-up of the procession, Athiri’s garment and jewelry to make her appear a goddess coming down to the people; he had even taken care of her personal bodyguards, as her safety was paramount. He had thought of everything: during the brief stops on the way to the capital, Athiri was entertained by acrobats and musicians, local residents offered various gifts to the new queen, blessing her future rule. All this was to dispel her anxious anticipation of the moment when she finally saw her subjects and the capital, to give her confidence.

The princess lived modestly while she stayed in the nomarch’s house in Senit. For the first time in her life, she felt as an ordinary girl rather than a living deity that no mere mortal could even speak to on pain of certain punishment. She enjoyed the company of her gracious host’s young daughters. Having never had any friends apart from the fawning maids and nurses, she found a new wondrous joy in the free and easy communication with someone besides Mhotep, the only person with whom she could discuss any subject she could think of.

She was introduced as a distant relative of the former vizier. The nomarch himself welcomed Athiri into his home without a question when Badru showed him the signet ring with Mhotep’s seal. The disgraced tjati’s faithful servant and confederate told Senti that his master asked to take good care of the girl until he sent his loyal people for her.

Senti immediately recognized the royal daughter of the Great Rahotep when Iset, as Athiri introduced herself on Mhotep’s advice, emerged on his doorstep, fatigued and worn out by her long journey. He realized that her miraculous resurrection had to remain a secret for the time being. Although he subjected himself to a mortal danger by granting the wish of the convicted exile and the Godlike’s murderer, he could not say no to Mhotep, remembering their old friendship and the day when the vizier had saved him and his family from an unjust accusation and execution.

Thus Athiri-Iset found shelter in a small northern nome, with Senti’s big family. At first, she yearned for her beloved husband and teacher, spending long hours in silent solitude, reluctant to speak to anyone. But soon her youth and curious nature called her to explore everything new and unusual.

The princess had rarely left the palace in the previous years, and life beyond the palace walls appeared a completely different world to her. Now she could stroll along the garden paths or by the river accompanied by Senti's daughters, who became her sisters, entertaining herself with fishing, watching life of common people bustling around her. She found this life fascinating — she saw peasants sincerely thanking the Great Hapi after the flood for the generous gift of water that revived the fertile soil, she saw how hard they toiled, how sickly their children were. She watched craftsmen at work, from armorers and potters to builders, sculptors and painters, wondering that it had never even occurred to her how and with whose hands the wealth and prosperity of her kingdom were created. She felt as if she had been lost in a long deep sleep and only now was awakened by the realization that she was to take the fate of all these people in her hands, that she would be responsible for either their suffering or their peaceful happy life.

Sometimes Badru would bring her letters from Mhotep. Athiri reread these brief coded messages that the two of them alone could understand, pressing them to her lips, carrying them against her heart as a priceless amulet. She longed to be in his arms again, to experience again all that he had helped her discover on their last night together. She imagined the day of their reunion and a joyous smile transformed her youthful features, and she drowned in despair and yearning if she had to wait too long for Mhotep’s letter to arrive.

When the royal battle chariots appeared on the road to Senti’s estate, the nomarch and his wife became numb with fear, and only Athiri realized at once that the long-awaited hour had come. Her heart was about to leap out of her chest when the celebrated Djehuty and forty of his bravest warriors bent their knee before her, for all to see, holding out the crook and flail.  

Athiri thought anxiously that her cortege would never reach the royal palace. If she only could, she would step on the swiftest chariot to see those beautiful eyes, to finally hear that dear voice, to feel the strength of those arms and the gentle touch of those hands.

She touched the back of the lapis lazuli scarab in Mhotep’s ring, drawing some tranquility from it. She did not have to wait long. “Nothing can separate us now. You shall ascend the golden throne beside me, my beloved husband, my wise tjati,” she thought, turning her confident gaze to the people welcoming Queen Isetnofret, the queen made by the great vizier Mhotep, the chief priest of Maat, Great One of the Five of the House of Thoth.

The procession was to stop at the main temple to honor Amun, as tradition required. The sacrament performed by the priests behind the closed doors lasted for hours. When the queen emerged from the temple to greet her rejoicing people, the supreme minister of the Great Sun solemnly pronounced the will of the gods, blessing Rahotep’s daughter. Finally, the Godlike’s large entourage continued their journey. The palace was ready to welcome the lawful heiress to the golden throne.

The doors of the great ceremonial hall swung open, and Athiri heard the Song of Praise in her honor. She gripped the symbols of power tighter, trying to make out from the distance the tall figure of Mhotep waiting for his Isetnofret. She could barely suppress a smile, doing her best to look unperturbed and dignified, as he had taught her.

How proud he would be of her, how happy to see her return, and oh, the sweetness of this night that awaits them — of all nights that the Resplendent Hathor would give them … Such were her thoughts as she strode proudly and slowly, surrounded by priests, to her throne.

But wherever she turned, she could not find the familiar, beloved face. Only Badru, Mhotep’s loyal servant, stood with bowed head among the courtiers. He lifted his gaze for a moment to meet her eyes, and Athiri’s heart sank — Badru was always at his master’s side, only bad news or an order from the vizier himself could have brought him here on his own.

The queen listened in silence to endless praiseful speeches. Ingratiating noblemen came in cavalcades, showering her with gifts. The golden throne next to hers remained empty. Could it be that Mhotep had broken his promise and given in to his stubbornness, not wishing to be her king? But why was he not among the first lords of the state lined up at her feet? Why did he not wish to see her tonight?

“Where is Tjati Mhotep?” she asked Ahmose, who stood closest to her. “When can we hear his salutations?”

“O Godlike, he should have come a long time ago. That is his manservant standing over there.”

“Go now, ask him where his master is.”

Ahmose bowed humbly and disappeared into the crowd. It did not go unnoticed. A faint murmur rippled the hall. The absence of the Great Vizier was bewildering enough.

Athiri felt every beat of her heart echoing in her head. Every passing minute of uncertainty was agony, and she kept searching the sea of faces for the only one that could make her happy.

Unable to stand the anxious, agonizing wait, Isetnofret rose from the throne and waved to stop the drawn out ceremony. Accompanied by many servants and dignitaries, the queen retired to her chamber. She did not require guardians now and the meddlesome entourage was dismissed right away. A few minutes had not passed before Mhotep’s closest allies, Semni and Ahmose, stepped into the royal chamber. Badru was following them. The dignitaries silently sank to their knees. Badru averted his eyes, wary to give away what was in his heart.

Athiri could not bear it any longer.

“What has happened, Badru? Where is your master? Where is the great vizier Mhotep?”

“O Godlike…” he began softly, but his voice dropped as though crushed by a silent sob. “Allow me to show you to his chamber…”

 

***

The sunset fell on the royal palace, splashing the sky with fiery purple. The lavish celebrations in the capital continued, the songs and hymns still thundering in the distance. Mhotep’s chamber was quiet. Even the birds that always filled it with a variety of sounds were not singing now. A solemn, frightening silence enveloped the room.

Athiri took the first wary step, already feeling the pain crawling into her heart as she saw his strong back bent over the scrolls. Such a familiar sight. It was as though the vizier had simply fallen asleep, worn out by many worries, his heavy head resting on his hands…

No, she shall not be angry. She shall not hold a grudge against him for succumbing to sleep, missing the ceremony and leaving the throne beside her empty. She might only wrinkle her nose for a moment, in jest, and agree to accept his countless kisses in compensation. Thus she thought, approaching Mhotep, trying to muffle the voice of reason that screamed the terrible truth.

Another step, and she knew… His handsome noble features were so serene, his eyelids hooded as though in half-slumber, a faint smile on his lips. Athiri gently touched his cheek and felt its coldness…

…and clamped her hand over her mouth, struggling not to shriek, not to weep, not to let out a beastlike desperate, deafening howl. Her legs refused to carry her, and she sank to the floor, quietly, limply, and wrapped her arms around his knees.

The Godlike do not cry, descendants of the gods do not writhe with pain and unbearable grief in front of their subjects. Yet no one shall dare disturb them in this twilight hour. Today she shall let her tears flow so that she can be an impassive embodiment of a deity in the mortal world tomorrow. He had wanted this fate for her and he had given his life for this dream. But what good is the golden throne to her, what will she do with all the riches of the world, if he is no longer by her side? She would be content to have a plain rug in a small hut! All she has ever wanted is to be the lover in his arms and the wife in his house, only to be with him, to breathe with him, to fall asleep and wake up feeling his heartbeat under her cheek… Why were they not wise enough to realize it sooner?

“Rest, my tjati, rest easy,” Athiri whispered through tears, as though to soothe, to sing her Mhotep to sleep. “The sun shall rise again tomorrow, and you shall be reborn in the fields of the Great Ra. There you shall be greeted by those you lost many springs ago, there shall be no plots, no bloody battles, there you shall find the kingdom of beauty you worshipped and light you always carried in your heart. Rest, great vizier, so many worries troubled you in this world, so much evil and betrayal you saw… May the fair gods guard your peace in Eternity.”

Enveloped in the dark of night, the royal palace stood in mournful silence. The Sky Bark steered by the hand of Ra disappeared beyond the horizon, carrying away to the righteous judgment the souls of those who had left this world, but the Godlike Isetnofret still sat at her tjati’s feet, telling him of her love. And the endless words of the old farewell song lingered on her lips, empty silent walls swallowing their lonely sad echo. _…_ _The sky is merged in the earth and a shadow is made in the earth to-day. My heart is hot at thy wrongful separation; My heart is hot because thou hast turned thy back on me…_[1]

 

[1] _The Songs of Isis and Nephthys_ , translation by R.O. Faulkner


	13. Immortality. Part 4

Alex looked through the new mail once again, hoping to see an envelope with the familiar handwriting on it. No, there was still no reply to her letter! And this was how it went every damn morning. Every morning she rose from her bed like a sleepwalker before everyone else to sort the mail on the silver salver in the hall. Daisy had generously handed her a piece of paper with Professor Lamb’s address the very first time they met back in London, but now she did not find the idea that great. He holed up in his bachelor pad just outside Cambridge and, according to Daisy, was working there in peace and quiet on everything they had managed to collect at the dig.

Alex expected William to be at least intrigued by her neutral and very reserved letter, in which she expressed her intention to write a small paper on the fragments of the writings in the tomb that she had deciphered. Perhaps he would like to be the first reader and critic of her work, or even more than that, Miss Kent’s coauthor as the leader of the expedition.

Deep down, Alex expected more still but even this brief and very businesslike note of hers received no response… The family pride suddenly reared its noble head and Alexandra never dialed Professor Lamb’s number — it would be unbearable to hear the dear voice politely declining her proposal.

Summer was finally in full swing. Alexandra stared at the view outside the window of the luxurious mansion in Mayfair, still very out of place in the bustle of the big city. Everything that had happened to her that spring in the archaeological camp felt like the most incredible time of her life. Never before had she known such strong emotions. It was the first time she encountered a real problem, a real challenge, something her father had been shielding her from since she was a child.

Falling asleep, Alex would travel back to the white dusty valley, where she wandered with a flashlight within millennia-old walls, talking to William again, trying to convince him that he was the only one she needed, that Albert was in the past… But it all rang hollow. Morning would come and her determination to snatch the phone off the cradle and call him would be replaced by despair, and another letter with passionate confessions would end up in the wastepaper basket. Alex felt like she was walking around in a circle, unable to break out.

The work in the Egyptology section of the British Museum was her salvation from the intermittent attacks of persistent, choking longing. It was easy to get the job, she had left a lasting impression when she worked on her degree — they remembered her as a diligent archivist and a valuable assistant in the papyri department. The name of her father, a member of the Board of Trustees of the museum, might have had something to do with it as well.

Alex spent long summer nights in the company of big mugs of coffee, trying to focus on her paper.  Little by little, she was deciphering the inscriptions on the tomb walls that she had managed to capture on film, doing her magic in a small but well-appointed photolab that used to be her walk-in closet. The paper was progressing slowly but it was supposed to become the link between her and William. Sometimes Alexandra kicked herself for the lack of pride and, filled with anger and despair, tossed the manuscript into the wastepaper basket but immediately got back to work. She knew that somewhere far away from her, he was a mirror image of her, burning the midnight oil, trying to solve the mystery of the mindboggling find that gave him so much joy and so many troubles and worries.

An amazing, long-forgotten world was opening to her. The tomb they had found belonged to a queen named Isetnofret who ruled Egypt in the times of the Middle Kingdom. The writings decorating the walls of her eternal abode mainly praised her long and wise rule. Thirty times did the Nile flood while she sat on her throne, and not once did the people of Egypt know devastating pestilence or famine — “abundance and prosperity descended upon the Blessed land of Ptah”, read the ancient symbols and drawings that had probably been put on one of the wall after the death of the queen. The most delightful and elaborate murals depicted her youth. Only a very loving person could have created all this with such extraordinary attention to the tiniest details. Could that be her king-husband? Her son, the heir to the throne? Alexandra had yet to find a mention of any other name or seal in the writings. But the lines so easily deciphered by William still rang in her ears. “In death and immortality I am your faithful servant...” Servant, why servant — not beloved, not husband, but servant? Who could write this? And those hieroglyphs looked not as sharp as the rest, so that inscription must have been made well before the queen passed away.

Her eyes burned from examining the photographs so closely, from all the meticulous work, her head swelled with endless questions. And so passed June, then July flew by before she knew it, and there was still no reply from Professor Lamb. The work and the search for answers to the most important question — why was the sarcophagus empty when they opened it? — were becoming an obsession. Her dreams grew restless; she saw herself under the majestic domes of ancient palaces, she heard voices speaking an ancient, barely familiar language, and the unbearable stinging yearning unknown to anyone who hadn’t lost the most precious thing in their life never lost its grip on Alex in those dreams.

Seeing her sinking into depression after the return to England, her father would make futile attempts at a serious conversation but Alex grasped at any excuse to avoid it. He could only tell himself that it was fine, all in good time; surely she would cool off and come to her senses and to the life of a well-to-do young lady who should have abandoned dusty academic tomes for the respectable and long-anticipated marriage. He had little doubt that Albert, being a practical modern young man, would swallow his pride and generously resume their relationship and all relevant arrangements between their familiar would still stand.

The negotiations with the new Egyptian government came to a dead end in May, and none of the new officials of the Egyptian Antiquities Organization was going to discuss the English archaeologists’ problems with Professor Lamb. There was no hope of resuming the dig this year. They had to be patient and, for now, move on.

Riding the wave of the public’s interest in their expedition, the ever active Daisy gave lectures on Egyptology to young people in summer camps and interviews on the unique discovery to various publications. The press still found the information appealing and it was worth quite a lot. This was supposed to attract new sponsors to continue the research and to finance the future expedition. She and William counted on that — they could hardly expect further financial aid from Mr. Kent now, for obvious reasons.

Professor Lamb himself didn’t give a single interview or even a brief comment in all these months. He remained untempted by numerous requests and offers of substantial remunerations and refused to interrupt his self-imposed reclusion. The scientific community waited patiently for the first results to appear in print. The rumors at the university insisted that the professor was coming back to the Egyptology department in the fall and select few would be lucky to learn about the finds and discoveries first hand.

One rainy August day, Alex screwed her courage to the sticking place and dialed a number from her notebook. Daisy’s cheerful voice spoke on the other end of the line — she sounded genuinely happy to hear from her.

Alexandra exhaled. She could no longer deal with everything that haunted her every day and every night on her own. For some inexplicable reason, her fascination with the mystery of the tomb was growing into paranoia. A meeting with Daisy Melvin had to give her some clue to make her way through this endless labyrinth.

 

***

“Well, you have done a great job with the texts,” said Daisy, taking off her reading glasses as she turned the last page of Alexandra’s manuscript. “Except that this brings up even more questions that we don’t have answers to…”

“I agree but all I had at my disposal was just the inscriptions on the tomb walls. Perhaps… there are other sources?” Alex looked at her quizzically.

“There are, but it will be a while before we can get to them. The official permit to resume our research hasn’t been signed yet, we can only wait patiently and work with the photos we have managed to take.”

The understatement in Daisy’s eyes was easy to detect.

“If there is anything I don’t know about yet, please, tell me. It’s very important to me. More than you know!”

An almost fanatical fire danced in Alex’s eyes, her face burning. Daisy remembered herself at this age. Just twenty years ago she wouldn’t hesitate to sell her soul for a rare interesting find. She spent all of her youth in endless expeditions and laboratories. Perhaps this was the reason her personal life never amounted to much…

She took a deep breath, making up her mind.

“William found several papyri with texts in the sealed box… Of course, it was against the regulations to open it without the commission and record… Well, you understand. Anyway, he took some quality pictures and we carefully put them back.”

“Has he deciphered them?”

“He is working at it. When we last met he only told me that the first two texts were love poems addressed to the queen. But the third one, the last one was written by a different hand in some kind of cipher and joined the other two much later.”

“Who is the author of the first two? A pharaoh — her husband or a court poet?”

“Unknown. I have yet to see the text of the full translation myself. Will never shares partial results. But we do hope that the last papyrus will reveal the secret of the tomb and shed the light on the absence of the mummy in the sarcophagus.”

“Ciphers usually have keys…”

“I think this is the problem Professor Lamb is wrestling with right now, that’s why he has entrenched himself in his village.”

“He's…” her voice traitorously hitched. “He’s… looking for the key?”

“He is. To no effect so far, unfortunately.”

Alex fell silent, lost in her thoughts, contemplating something.

“You told me when we were back in Egypt that there were some stones in the empty sarcophagus that were meant for a game or divination.”

“That’s right. There were indeed stones in there. But so far Mr. Mohammad has found no mention of anything of the kind in his archives. Why did you bring them up all of a sudden?”

“I don’t know, Daisy, I can’t explain. But I think, no, I’m sure they can give us a clue.”

“Well, that’s some theory! I wonder. Do you think they can be the key? But we examined every single stone. There were precisely twenty of them — they are not precious rocks at all and they don’t have any marks or hieroglyphs on them. We believe it’s some kind of sacral symbol, a part of a ritual, no more than that.”

“Maybe. But I have to see for myself.”

“I have to say, Alex, I’m surprised. I’ve always believed you to be very bright but hypotheses like this one should have some rational ground. Besides, if Will thought it was necessary, he would have gotten permission to study those artefacts a long time ago.”

“Even so, Daisy, please, you must help me! I know what I’m talking about. Intuition, the sixth sense… call it whatever you want. I must see those stones with my own eyes and hold them in my hands…”

Alex stared into vacancy, as if she was seeing a different reality. Unsettled by this sight, Daisy covered the young woman’s hand with hers, trying to soothe her.

“Alright… If you want, I can phone Mr. Mohammad tomorrow. But I can’t guarantee that he’ll manage to arrange access to the holdings of the Museum of Cairo for you. There has been a reshuffle in the government again, he may very well be facing resignation himself. I don’t know if he’d be willing to jeopardize his shaky position…”

“I know it will all work out!” Alex said excitedly, the spark of hope replacing the lost look in her eyes.

Exhausted by the long succession of hollows days that followed their conversation, Alex jumped at every ring of the phone and ran like a lunatic to pick up the receiver, hoping to hear the good news. She wanted to phone Daisy herself several times over that endless week, thinking that Dr. Melvin might have forgotten her promise to contact her Egyptian colleague.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she always knew that Daisy’s connections were going to work. But Alex knew that, for all intents and purposes, it was pure gamble, chasing an unlikely theory, half dream, half figment of her imagination.

When the phone finally rang Sunday night, Alex barely managed to keep it together. In two days! A special vault in the Museum of Cairo! She would be allowed to look at the artefacts recovered from the site by Professor Lamb and the British team!

 

***

It didn’t take her long to pack — she always liked to travel light. Just the essentials, a camera, notebooks, sunblock, a change of clothes. She got a few days of unpaid leave at the museum, taking advantage of her good standing with the administration and promising to be back at work on time.

She felt as if she was going home… Except no one was waiting for her there. William wasn’t there… But there was something else, something very important for her future life. Something that could lead her to herself, to the understanding of her own soul, her thoughts and actions.

The visions from her dreams were transforming her reality, surrounding her with shaky rippled walls, blotting out the familiar world. Alexandra dreamed and in her dreams she saw eyes the brightest shade of jade again and felt the touch of gentle but strong hands that gave her the much-welcome peace and contentment. She woke up with renewed confidence that she knew well the path she had chosen and it was the only right path to take.


	14. Immortality. Part 5

The shade of the patio adjoining the entrance finally shielded her from the scorching sun. There were already a lot of people coming in and Alex didn’t waste time slipping into the cool lobby of the museum with a group of tourists.

She never thought of herself as a coward, on the contrary, she challenged herself, aiming to overcome any fear she had. Yet now, following the curator down the wide staircase, coming closer to the vault, she felt her throat drying up and her knees buckling. Even walking across the familiar spacious halls in the artificial half-light upstairs, she found she couldn’t help trembling. No, she was not frightened of the silent faces of kings and gods staring at her from every corner; even the eerie statues of Anubis and long-emptied canopic jars were natural and ordinary to her — after all, she was an Egyptologist. But there was this inexplicable anxiety pervading every cell of her body, and Alexandra struggled to describe it or give it a more or less scientific name.

“This way, Miss Kent,” said the voice of Mr. Mohammad as the director obligingly opened the doors to the vault for her. The short chubby man with big kind eyes the color of black coffee apparently liked Daisy, considering how quickly he had responded to her request and arranged access for Alex to the sanctum sanctorum of the country’s most famous museum. Judging by his frequent and excited questions concerning his British colleague, one could assume that he was not motivated by purely professional interest.

Feeling small in the enormous room, Alex froze, suddenly timid and hesitant. Here it is, everything she had been dreaming of! The rarest artefacts, the most fascinating mysteries lay carefully shrouded here, waiting to be thoroughly studied, restored and put on display for an eager audience to see. Ancient Egyptian artefacts were always extremely alluring, even magical in the public eye. People fought, bled and died for them; they drove some to insanity and fed so many fantastic and sometimes spine-chilling stories.

“Perhaps I’m just another victim of another mystification,” Alex thought, as her guide searched the countless shelves for the right item number.

“There,” Mr. Mohammad checked the catalogue and pulled a small box off the shelf. “You should be wearing gloves — which you know, of course, but still. We all can get a little distracted in the face of such magnificence.”

Alex smiled, concurring with him, and demonstratively pulled on the pair of white gloves that the curator had offered to her at the entrance.

“Excellent, now I don't have to worry. You have about forty minutes to study the artefacts. You can take a few shots without flash. Just relax and work, no one will disturb you. But you have to be done in forty minutes, by the time I come back and unlock the door. I am sorry but these are the rules.”

“No, I understand, you have gone to so much trouble for me already.”

“Don’t mention it, I’m always glad to be of use. Especially to Madame Melvin,” Mr. Mohammad grinned and hurried away, leaving Alex to her quest.

Very carefully, she raised the lid of the precious box and saw a handful of seemingly unremarkable polished stones resembling ordinary river pebbles. Each had a tiny tag with a catalogue number attached to it. Alexandra counted them — exactly twenty, just as Daisy had said. The cloth pouch they had been stored in must have fallen apart when they took it out of the sarcophagus.

Barely breathing, Alex took one in her hands and, surprisingly, didn’t feel any cold. Quite the opposite, in only a moment, the stone surface started to grow warm and continued to do so until the pebble burned her palm as if it had been lying under the relentless desert sun all day long. Oddly, Daisy never mentioned that, but surely she and William had touched them…

Her heart was pounding, and she couldn’t understand it, she couldn’t remember anything like it… Perhaps she lacked knowledge of some physical laws or chemical processes, but something incredible, something defying rational explanation was unfolding before her eyes.

Suddenly succumbing to an uncanny urge, she took her gloves off and picked up a few more pebbles from the box. They were so smooth and nice to the touch that she felt like rolling them between her fingers, craving this weird tingling sensation in her fingertips. It was as if some unknown force fought to break out through the stone shell, drawing her in with its ancient unexplored power.

Alex felt dizzy, her entire body suddenly weak and almost immobilized, a metallic taste coating her tongue. She pushed herself off the chair, sliding to the stone floor, afraid she could faint any second and fall down and hurt herself, dazed, panicking and helpless, unable to even call the security guard standing on the other side of the massive door.

The room grew dark, as if the lights had been turned off. Alex felt that she was still conscious but her surroundings seemed beyond the reach of her comprehension.

“Get up! Come with me!” said a child’s voice very close. She saw a strip of light right in front of her, in the middle of which stood a girl of about ten or maybe twelve. A shadow of an animal brushed the girl’s legs. Alex made out a slender black cat with long ears and a small golden bell clinking melodiously on its neck. How could she have missed them? They must have been hiding behind the formidable storage racks that filled the vault.

“Come on!” the girl stamped her foot impatiently and petulantly — she obviously was not accustomed to having to wait.

Alex scrambled to her feet and tried to talk to the strange child, to find out who she was and what she was doing there but words wouldn’t come out. Obedient to the girl’s call, she stepped into the half-light…

For a second she thought she was in absolute vacuum — no sound, no smell, no light, next to no sensation. She walked blindly, holding on to the small warm hand that pulled her along. Suddenly the connection was no more, the girl was gone, and Alex froze on the spot, terrified, not knowing how and where to go now. She wanted to call the girl but she didn't know her name and was still mute anyway.

But soon she heard voices and turned her head to witness a very touching scene. The little girl sat in a high golden chair, dangling her feet carelessly. Alex saw a jeweled band with a royal cobra on her dark hair.

A tall handsome man dressed in ceremonial garments, much like those worn by the dignitaries in the ancient Egyptian drawings, stood beside the royal child.

For some reason, Alex could not see their faces clearly but she could swear that the man's profile looked familiar, that she had already heard his voice and would never forget it.

Curiously enough, she could hear and understand the conversation between the man and the little princess perfectly well.

“I never want to look at snakes again.”

“I am sorry, this is my fault. I have brought this sorcerer from Meir. But you shall never know such terror again, I shan’t allow it. Are you still frightened, my lady?”

“No, Tjati Mhotep, only a little. But you are not to tell anyone. Promise?”

“I swear on the Sacred eye of Amun, o Godlike.”

“Good. But you will still bring marvelous gifts to the palace, will you not?”

The vizier couldn’t hold back his smile.

“I shall, my princess, only you should not run away from your nursemaids so often.”

“They bore me, they are as stupid and ignorant as monkeys and they cannot entertain me and make me laugh as you do. And you are absent from the palace so often!”

“I am only fulfilling my duty to your Godlike father. The Kingdom must thrive and it requires weariless efforts. When you grow up and ascend the throne yourself, you will see how important it is to have the support of the well-fed and prosperous people instead of a hungry and angry mob willing to tear anyone apart.”

“Even a king?!”

“There have been precedents.”

“So I should not be angry when you are away for too long?”

“I am your faithful servant, o Godlike Athiri, and everything I do is my contribution to your future. Remember that and be diligent in the lessons I give you. Then, when the time comes, you will be ready to accept the symbols of the divine power.”

“Have you already had the evil mage thrown to the children of Sobek?”

“He shall never be reborn again, and his black heart shall be justly sent into Ammit’s jaws.”

“But what did he shout before he died? Was it a curse, Mhotep? Tell me the truth.”

The vizier did not answer; he was clearly unprepared for this question.

“He said that eternal suffering awaited me. All madmen speak of such things. Forget it, my princess, your days should be filled with joy and such thoughts must not cloud your face. Look, there are those rare birds that I brought with me from the land of the Mittanians[1] yesterday.”

The girl nimbly jumped off her throne and took her teacher’s hand, hurrying into the royal chamber.

The vision was gone as quickly as it had appeared, sinking into impenetrable darkness, and Alex felt a small hand on hers again. Excited, she grasped at it, allowing the girl to lead her ahead. Was there even any room left for anything rational in her head? With every step she took, she realized that everything she saw was not just a dream or a hallucination but memories — and her soul had no doubt that those memories were true.

She spoke mentally to the girl and was astonished to get a response. More and more images burst into view every time her little ghostly guide made her stop.

Now it was not a child she saw but a young woman with a slim lithe body, a beautiful face and big brown eyes… Much darker skin and hair like black flowing silk but other than that, it was like looking in a mirror. Impossible, terrifying and fascinating. Alex could no longer feel her heart and her mind had finally come to terms with her surroundings. As if a blindfold fell off her eyes; the epiphany came once she saw the Great Vizier Mhotep beside the young princess Athiri.

Her soul was a silent observer of those brief glimpses, but the eyes filled with tenderness, the eyes the color of the clear Nile waters were looking at her now, and the quiet raspy voice whispered words of love to her in an ancient magical tongue.

And Alex closed her eyes, giving in to the overwhelming temptation, barely remembering who she was, what was happening to her and if there was a way back…

Time was flowing through her very thoughts now, like an unstoppable river, telling a long-forgotten tale of a great, immortal, cursed love roaming the endless roads of Eternity. Of the love that was born and died over and over again for hundreds of years, walking the same path, like the Sacred Scarab rolling the bright sun disc across the sky. Different names, different faces, different times — and one destiny repeating itself century in century out… The relentless fate did bring them together now and then and gave them hope — but they never were each other’s equal in age, status, position, religious or political views that came between them again and again, making _him_ sacrifice his happiness for _her_ life and future.

And this was _their_ story. _Their_ path drawn by some evil and powerful will. Alex and William only dutifully repeated everything that had been done by the thousands of their previous incarnations. Was it how it was always meant to be? But if so, what was she doing here? Why had the unknown forces brought her to all these revelations in this strange long dream? Suddenly she was afraid that she would forget everything she had seen once she woke up but her thoughts were interrupted by another vision.

Alex saw Isetnofret, but she was not a young girl in love with her worldly-wise tjati like in the previous visions — now she was a much older, although still beautiful and dignified, woman draped in rich clothes.

The queen stood by the granite shrine in a small burial chamber, her cheek pressed against the cold stone with engraved writings, as though engaged in a silent conversation with someone. This tomb was much more modest and smaller than the one Alex and Professor Lamb had examined and photographed in the Valley of the Kings. But the funerary gifts indicated that the tomb belonged to a nobleman…

The queen stood still for quite some time and then, determined, gestured to someone to come up from the shadows. The elderly dignitary bowed low, listening to his mistress intently. Sensing her final days approaching, the Godlike Isetnofret wished to go into Immortality with her eternal beloved… The magnificent tomb in the Valley of the Kings that the vizier Mhotep had once built for her would remain empty forever.

Now it came to her, the most important, the essential revelation connecting the small fragile pieces of the elaborate jigsaw puzzle that Alex had tried to put together night after sleepless night with a frightening and then inexplicable obsession. Now Alex was _her_ again, the woman who knew true love and the true tragedy of losing it. Memories flooded her, leaving painful marks on her heart.

There she was, weaving the last stem into the small bouquet of anemones and cornflowers that would be laid on the chest of the eternally resting vizier and the heavy sarcophagus would conceal her last secret gift to her beloved.

Mhotep had done everything for the power to be returned to his beloved Athiri but in the end he could not stand at her side… now she had to make decisions and rule the great country on her own. The young Isetnofret knew that the people needed a new pharaoh and soon made her choice. A nobleman from Xois, the town that lay in the delta of the Great River, became her husband. He was young, exquisitely handsome and possessed just the right amount of vanity. In exchange for his new status, he did not interfere in the affairs of state, relying on the keen intellect and iron will of his august wife. They brought into the world seven heirs in the following years and she tirelessly consolidated the divine pharaoh power in the country, sharing the honors with her husband but never loosening her grip on the reins.

There were moments when, sitting on the golden throne at official ceremonies, she saw another man in the place of her husband, the one who was so dear to her, so vividly, so clearly, and her heart fluttered in her chest, a shadow of the deep-rooted sorrow clouding the august brow. Isetnofret knew that in this life she could only resign and follow her duty and wait for the day when the gods allowed her and Mhotep to reunite in Eternity.

Her king-husband died suddenly, fifteen springs later, from sepsis, having sustained a minor injury while hunting a hippopotamus in the marshes on the banks of the Nile. The tardy treatment and the secondary putrid fever crushed his robust health and he passed on into immortality in a matter of days. The queen lived the rest of her life a widow and ruled the country with a firm hand until her eldest son came of age. The attempts of power-hungry officials and dignitaries to cajole the imperious Isetnofret into a new marriage never succeeded.

…Alexandra stands on the high palace wall, looking over the city sprawling behind its walls, its streets quiet in the first light of the dawning sun. The blessed land of Ptah welcomes the new day. In a few hours a vociferous crowd will fill these streets, and the city will live another day under the reign of the wise queen. But why is the Godlike Isetnofret’s soul tormented by a terrible yearning and half-remembered visions of her childhood today? She sees the infatuating green eyes, she hears the mad cries of the dark sorcerer from Meir, and the vision of a gigantic horrid serpent fills her heart with dread again…

After her demise — sincerely mourned by all her subjects — the trusted dignitaries fulfilled the last will of the Great Queen to the letter. Her body was secretly put into Tjati Mhotep’s tomb, and the place of their long-awaited reunion was buried under the sands of time, as was the splendid tomb that never became the Godlike’s eternal abode.

“Come along, come with me,” the insistent little voice pulled Alex from the vision back into her own self.  But with every step her _self_ was getting more and more vague, dissolving in this long journey across the ghostly paths of the Labyrinths, losing the connection to the earthly life, balancing on the edge between life and death. And Alex didn’t know if she wanted to come back…

 

[1] Mittani was a Hurrian-speaking state in northern Syria and southeast Anatolia from c. 1500 to 1300 BC.


	15. Immortality. Part 6

_[© Catelyn May](https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100016771998221) _

 

William’s fingers reflexively closed on the small scarab-shaped amulet he had been wearing on his neck since he was young. He had bought this stone on a plain leather cord on a whim at an underworld market, from a grubby weird-looking merchant with rotten teeth and unkempt hair that almost completely covered his eyes.

A university student on his first visit to Egypt, he saw with his own two eyes everything he had dreamed of ever since he was a boy reading books on Egyptology to tatters. Later he would travel back to this amazing magical land many times, but that first time — he remembered it as pure joy and endless happiness that had made him want to hum under his nose and grin from ear to ear at anyone he passed by on the narrow streets of the old city.

Why did he still wear this unsophisticated knick-knack? Was it silly sentimentality, a yearning for the youth so full of hopes and plans, or just blind superstition? Whatever it was, the little scarab brought him luck in all expeditions, starting from that memorable one, on which he went as a volunteer. He had been the one to find ceramic fragments with an extremely rare New Kingdom royal cartouche and since then he had been known as the luckiest Egyptologist alive. Unfortunately, that was the only area he was lucky in. His professional life was a complete opposite of his personal one: an unhappy marriage that ended in a scandal that nearly buried his academic career, long years of bachelordom, attempts to lose himself in work and no hope for ordinary human happiness…

With no reply from the Egyptian Antiquities Organization to be expected in the nearest future, William was going crazy. How could he stay calm anyway when his dream had come true by a stroke of incredible luck that select few in the archaeological community could boast of — only to be taken away from him unceremoniously, without good reason! Now he could only sit and wait and hope that the political realignment in Egypt after the new dictator’s rise to power would eventually come to an end, common sense in the officials’ minds will prevail and he would be allowed to get back to the dig.

Will watched drops of the August rain shatter against the window pane and listened to the murmur of the old trees surrounding his small cottage, and everything about it reminded him of the woman that had burst into his life much like this sudden downpour at the end of the summer. The longing hit like a thunderbolt: oh, to take her in his arms and hold her tight, to feel the silk of her hair against his cheek, her heartbeat against his chest and the trembling of her delicate shoulders under the myriad of his kisses…

Nonsense! He should leave it all behind, he has no right to let Alex Kent into his established life. Frustrated, he slammed his book shut — everything seemed to be falling apart in his hands today and he couldn’t focus on anything. William crossed the room again and shot a nervous look at the clock…

…and caught, through the patter of rain, the approaching rumble of a car on the sleepy village road. Will gingerly peeked out of the window and froze, transfixed. A small figure in a red checkered raincoat slid out of the car parked by the gate. In a practiced and so painfully familiar gesture, the figure brushed away strands of brown hair, and his heart jumped, stuttered and whimpered.

He didn’t want to admit to himself how desperately he had been waiting and fearing this visit the entire past week, ever since the difficult conversation forced on him by Daisy. His colleague and friend had made a detour on her way to Cambridge to show up at his doorstep unannounced, as was her habit.

“Do you even know that this girl has single-handedly translated all the inscriptions on the walls?! That she flew to Cairo to prove one of her theories?!” Daisy pontificated loudly, emphasizing every word with a tap of her fingers on the surface of his favorite oak table. “And if you only saw her eyes…  I’m not sure what exactly happened between you two in the camp and I’m not going to lecture you on your personal life but I can assume that you have decided everything for both of you, like you always do. Will, if you have no intention of being with her, at least be so kind as to help her take her first steps in serious science. She deserves it!”

He just grumbled that he was swamped and struggling, that he hadn’t found the key to the cipher yet, that he had no time to check other people’s theories and speculations, and that the amount of love poems would very soon drive him insane, but alright, he might… just might find the time later to think about Miss Kent’s paper. After another sleepless night in the company of brandy, he sent a short note to Alexandra’s London address. _Corner Cottage, Melbourn **[1]**. Saturday after 11 a.m._

Alex quickly ran up to the door under the pouring rain, and the staccato beat of the old door knocker echoed through the house. William nervously grasped the knob, sucked in a breath, summoning up his courage, counted to ten and opened the door.

“May I come in?” she said cautiously from the doorstep, already shielded from the rain by the roof canopy, and smiled a timid sad smile, opening a still sore wound in his heart.

“Yes, yes, of course…” he suddenly realized he had been just standing there looking at her. Where did this ridiculous shyness come from?

Alex walked inside the house and sensed the invisible barrier between herself and William.

They stood in the hall for a while, listening to the sounds of the rain outside. He stared at her, probably unaware of it — until the yearning grew so strong that William had to hastily look away before his eyes betrayed him. He carefully closed the front door.

His self-control was slipping and could disappear any second now.

So he helped her out of the soaked raincoat and led her into the living room.

“Please, make yourself comfortable. Tea? Coffee?” William played a good host but his nervousness was hard to miss. Still, his dry and deliberate no-nonsense politeness was like a knife to her heart.

“Nothing, thank you,” she shook her head and sat on the sofa.

William took the chair across from her, waiting for her to speak.

 _It’s like he’s about to give an exam to a student_ , she thought. She struggled to start the conversation, even though on the way there she had practiced her first phrases about a hundred times. A tense silence filled the room.

“So…” he looked at her intently, trying to hide his nervousness under the mask of formality.

“Have you received my letter, Professor Lamb? The one I sent about a month ago?” she asked.

“I have.”

“But you never replied…”

He looked away again.

“I am at a very intense point in my work right now and, to be honest, I don’t know yet if I could be of any use to you.”

His pointedly official, almost cold, tone killed Alex’s last hope for a personal.

“However, Professor Melvin told me about the work you have done with the texts and I will gladly look at it.”

Alex suddenly realized that she was dying to draw her fingers through his thick unruly hair with silver threads on the temples, to feel the coarse prickle of his short beard that had grown over the time of his reclusion, the heat of his skin through the fabric of the dark gray shirt…

Without saying a word, she pulled her manuscript out of the bag and held it out. Their fingers met for a second… and perhaps lingered in that touch a little longer than they should have. But the moment passed and the spell was broken. Professor Lamb cleared his throat awkwardly and began to flip through the typewritten pages.

“Good, very good indeed,” he said after a while. “I always knew you were talented. A flawless translation, and the interpretation is correct. I think this will be a perfect, solid framework for your future thesis. Still… Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to come any closer to solving the mystery of the empty sarcophagus. I must tell you that I am working on deciphering a few of the scrolls from the tomb myself. It’s mostly love poems, and stunningly beautiful at that…” Professor Lamb paused, as if contemplating something. “Possibly a true treasure for literary scholars but we have no idea who the author is and if it has anything to do with our puzzle.”

“Look, Professor Lamb,” Alex carefully maintained the formal tone of their conversation, although it felt like a farce. “What if our knowledge of antiquity is all self-deception? We think in terms of science which we have invented ourselves, while they have nothing in common with the life of those people, their values, their views of the world… Perhaps we need to look into our souls more often to see the things hidden from our minds? What if this is not our first life on earth?”

“Now you’re getting into the realm of philosophy, Alexandra,” Professor Lamb smiled slightly, trying to defuse the situation. “And, if I’m being honest, I’m not quite sure I understand where this is going.”

“You’ll probably think that what I want to tell you is crazy… You might think I’m insane and that a person who wants to devote their life to science cannot in all seriousness say something like this… but I know why Isetnofret’s body wasn’t in the sarcophagus!”

William stared at her in still wordless bewilderment, a worried crease forming between his eyebrows.

“Have you learned this from the artefacts that we extracted at the dig and handed over to the Museum of Cairo? Daisy told me she’d asked the director to arrange access for you… Am I right?” he said, having finally shaken off his stupor.

“You could say that… I’m not going to lie, I don’t have any proof at the moment. Just trust me…” Alex knew that she wouldn’t be able to describe her visions in detail, not even to William. They would remain her secret but she had to tell him the most important thing about them… to hand him the thread that would lead him to the key to his fate. Would he take it, would he believe what she was going to tell him?

“You know, when I decided to take on the search for the unknown tomb in the Valley of the Kings, the so-called scientific community was ready to stone me,” he said suddenly. “I became a black sheep, an object of ridicule, because I had next to no accurate data, only conjectures, years of experience and intuition. I’m not going to judge you, Alexandra, even if you tell me you have dreamed it. I have no right to judge you.”

Alex straightened up and looked into William’s eyes with gratitude, feeling her confidence grow under the nurturing light of his encouragement.

“Isetnofret was the regnal name of our queen,” she said, watching his expression change as common sense and the desire to believe her fought within him. “The birth name of the princess was Athiri. And the poems in the papyrus found in the tomb are by the pharaoh’s grand vizier, Mhotep. He had been her teacher since she was a child, and then… it so happened that she became… not just his lover — his secret wife. They were not fated to be together in that life. He went into Eternity long before his beloved princess, and she lived a long, by the standards of that time, and happy life but she never forgot him. That’s why, before she died, Isetnofret ordered to put her dead body into his tomb. And the one we’ve found only stored the little things she cherished so much, like the scrolls with Mhotep’s poems and the pouch with the magical ritual stones.”

She sounded so confident — not a shadow of a doubt. William tried to figure out possible sources of this information but he couldn’t decide on anything specific. Where could she have learned the name that was mentioned in the love poems only once?! He definitely hadn’t told Daisy that yet!

“I don’t know what to say, Alexandra…” he muttered.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Alex interrupted him. “I only came to share this information with you because I wanted to give you something to help you find the key to the third papyrus. I have a feeling there is something in there that will give us answers to many questions… As I said, I don’t have any proof yet. So it’s up to you whether to believe me or not…”

“I respect your hypothesis. It is intriguing and has the right to exist. But could a love lost at such a young age explain something that so blatantly contradicts all sacral standards of that time?”

Alex’s eyes welled up. The memories of the visions in the Labyrinths washed over her. Was he really not feeling the bond between their souls at all? Would he never understand?

She quickly looked away to hide her tears.

William did not hesitate. He rose from his chair and sat next to her. The state of her spoke louder than her words. He realized that the impossible story she had told him inexplicably touched some deep personal and painful strings in her heart. The palm of his hand covered her fingers in a soothing gesture.

Alex forced herself to look up at him, knowing she could no longer pretend that she had come to discuss only science and nothing more. They should get this over with here and now.

Silvery trickles were already shamelessly rolling down her cheeks.

“Alexandra…” he forced out in a whisper, through the spasm in his throat.

“Why?” she blurted out, her lips trembling. “Why didn’t you give me a chance to explain?”

In the back of his mind, he had been preparing himself for this turn in their conversation, but his reserve cracked anyway. He froze, holding his breath, not knowing what to say. For the first time in his life, the worldly cynic William Lamb couldn’t find the right words.

“Because I had no right to get involved in your life in the first place…”

The obvious sincerity of his tone closed the distance between them and reassured her.

“Couldn’t you feel, couldn’t you see what I felt for you? Was everything you told me that night a lie? You are _not_ a good liar, I know that!”

He fought the urge to scoop up this brave but so small and delicate warrior in a bear hug, to soothe her with his kisses and caresses, all doubts and reservations be damned. And she thought that the remains of her pride, bitterness and hurt were about to vanish without a trace and make her just impulsively press her lips to his.

But reason, his eternal somber companion pulled William back into reality yet again. _What are you hoping for? What are you expecting? You want to make this young beautiful woman yours and take away the brilliant future that she deserves, dooming her to a life of endless expeditions and tents, unsettled and devoid of comfort? Or are you going to make her wait for months for you to come home only to disappear again a week later to chase ghosts? Was your wife happy? Can you even make anyone happy?_

Defeated, William closed his eyes and anxiously rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to hold on to the scraps of self-control.

“I know… I didn’t doubt your feelings, not for a second, not even when I saw your fiancé…” he said softly. “That’s not the point.”

 _We broke up right after we left the camp_ , she wanted to say but didn’t, allowing him to finish his big speech.

“There are people, Alex, that are guided since the moment they’re born by a pathological passion. It doesn’t let them live a quiet settled life, always sending them out look for something mysterious and unattainable. It steals their peace, wealth, love… It gets under their skin and lives inside, eating their soul away, making their loved ones miserable… It never sleeps, it never stops. Do you understand? I am one of those people, a leper, a loner, and my life can never be like other people’s… I have been married, I know what I’m talking about. Perhaps had I overcome my obsession, had I paid more attention to my family, my marriage would have been happier. But I can’t change my past and I can’t change myself.”

“But I don’t want my life to be like other people’s, I only need to be with you, the rest doesn’t matter.”

Her eyes were filled with tenderness, affection, hope and pain, melting his determination, and William had to get up and step to the window so that she couldn’t see what he felt saying all those _right_ words.

“There was a time when I too believed I could change the world. But things are not supposed to always go the way we want them to go — for our own good… You are so young, Alexandra, you’re talented, you have your whole life ahead of you. You won’t find marital bliss with me, nor will you build an independent academic career… I will always be a heretic of the official science, I will never renounce my views for a snug little office or public recognition. Sooner or later you’ll realize that you’ve made a big mistake when you decided to waste your youth on me.”

Alex realized that her hands were shaking and her heart sank anticipating the grip of the relentless fate. How could she even expect him to welcome her with open arms? So what if their souls were bound by some supernatural ancient force? Not once in thousands of years had they been allowed to join their fates, and this life would be no different! She wanted to scream, to shout to him that she knew how his immortal soul had been making the same damn mistake over and over again, sacrificing his own happiness for the sake of duty and her alleged well-being. But what would be the point of trying now? William had already made up his mind, leaving no place for her in his life.

“So I was wrong and you don’t really feel anything for me at all…” she said quietly, resigned.

And he felt he couldn’t lie to her. The confession escaped his mouth, a painful, hopeless, farewell echo, as if it had a will of its own.

“I love you, Alexandra but--”

“But you love your obsession and your freedom so much more…” she finished his sentence for him, unable to stand to listen to another excuse.

“I’m not someone who… who can make you happy. But I believe you are going to meet a man capable of this, Miss Kent,” he returned to the nauseatingly respectful honorific, as if announcing the final verdict.

A long dead silence set in. He watched her shoulders shuddering from barely suppressed sobs, her mouth sucking in air as she tried to pull herself together. But it was against his principles to back out and he hated himself even more for that now.

And the rain kept falling, as if intent on flooding the narrow streets of the picturesque Melbourn and turning them to mush. Raindrops trembled on the petals of the late garden flowers, and torrents of sky water thundered down the drain pipes. Afterwards, Alex vaguely remembered finding herself in the hall, taking her raincoat off the rack, opening the door and making a run for her car without looking back.

 

[1] For those of you as poorly conversant with England's geography as I am, yes, this is a real village outside Cambridge and yes, this is how it’s spelled. The house is real too ([check it out](https://c8.alamy.com/comp/J1MF64/corner-cottage-high-street-melbourn-cambridgeshire-J1MF64.jpg)).


	16. Immortality. Part 7

Alex kept saying, “Calm down, pull yourself together,” but the narrow road kept getting out of focus in the blurred lenses of the new tears. The last thing she wanted was a several hours long drive back to London in this state, but she wasn’t going to stay in Melbourn a minute longer.

 _But things are not supposed to always go the way we want them to go — for our own good…_ the echo of his words still rang in her head.

The sign at the highway exit said _Cambridge 10 miles_ and she resolutely turned the wheel. She needed a break to be alone with her pain, to recover, to acknowledge and accept what had happened and to take as sober a look at things as possible…

Had anyone promised her that the ancient curse would vanish if she found a way to meet with William and tried to explain it to him, to tell him what she felt?

No! Everything went as it was supposed to go, right according to the millennia-old script. A bitter chuckle escaped her lips. Should she have told William the little she knew about Mhotep’s curse? Or would he have just taken it as her attempt to hold him down, to make him, a grown man and serious scientist, believe in her _imaginary reality_?

Alex clearly heard the words her father had said in one of their tense conversations before her recent trip to Cairo. She suspected that he hadn’t wasted time digging up the reason of her confusing breakup with Albert and her summer-long depression.

 _Do you want to become a second Mrs. Lamb? The first one couldn’t stand all the joys of living with this fanatic and left him for a younger colleague. Why do you look so surprised? I_ have _made inquiries about the man my only daughter had the misfortune of falling for. Do you think everyone forgot that old scandal all over Cambridge? Do you really want all this, darling? With Albert, you will have a beautiful clean story from a scratch, without a trail of gossip and skeletons in the closet. You are both young, you will make a wonderful family and give me healthy grandchildren!_

In that memorable conversation, her father saw fit to lay out before her William’s entire file, including the most sordid details of his scandalous divorce. It turned out that his wife had dumped him for a postgrad student from his own department soon after the tragic death of their little son. The boy was born sick and needed all of his parents’ attention and mental strength. Unfortunately, used to shining rather than giving up her passions, the young woman refused to accept it and put all supposed blame on her husband, seeking comfort in male attention and alcohol, and the comfort was not long in coming. This went on and on for a few years. Lamb put up with the adultery, giving himself to the needs of their son and routine reading and writing and teaching, and didn’t even allow himself to dream of going to a dig. Right after the boy’s death William left for a long expedition to the Middle East — in other words, fled from the exhausting rumors and the pitying looks of his university colleagues.

But it all had happened so long ago — Alex naively believed that William had let go of his past and wanted to start a new life with her. No, he didn’t even consider this option, preferring to continue his life of noble and miserable loneliness.

Alex had no doubt that the revelations of the Labyrinths were true, as much as it amazed her. She had stopped believing in Father Christmas long before her peers and made fun of any superstition and supernatural tales!

Perhaps she had gotten too far into the mysticism of the discovered tomb. What if all her visions were nothing but the effects of some strong toxin on the stones that was unknown to the modern science?

History knew precedents. An archaeologist would find an untouched tomb and succumb to an unknown disease causing delirium and hallucinations. Everything that had happened to her could have a fairly scientific explanation… Why hadn’t this occurred to her right away? She usually had a rather critical approach to any information and fact.

Alex realized that she was completely unable to make head or tail of her thoughts, feelings and actions. All she wanted now was to run away from it all as far away as possible, to just drive and drive on and on and on…

Suddenly, her throat went dry, and she felt the familiar nausea. This was exactly what she had felt upon her return from the Labyrinths, when a very frightened Mr. Mohammad and the security guard found her unconscious on the floor of the museum vault. They brought her back with some ammonia and water and seated her, still pale and weak, on the bench in the courtyard.

Fortunately, the landscape outside the window had already changed to that of the picturesque streets of the old university town. Alex felt that she needed to pull over and breathe some fresh air. The rain had long stopped; the freshly washed sky looked bright and friendly. She parked the car by a small park, hurrying to chase away the weakness that reminded her of her adventure in the Museum of Cairo. With great relish, Alex took in the ozone-filled air in small sips, touching the wet sleek leaves of the bushes. Yes, not driving back to London in this state and opting for a walk in Cambridge had been the right decision.

The first time she had visited Cambridge was on a school trip. Time seemed to stand still in this prim and proper town. Even then she was dazzled by the majestic buildings that had seen hundreds of incredibly talented people who changed the world, and the old flagstones under her feet kept countless secrets and mysteries. That might have been the moment when the little Alex felt the pull of history.

She had chosen Oxford to continue her studies but the connection between her and Cambridge never broke. And today she felt like a lost traveler in this town, trying to hold on to something familiar and dear to silence the stinging echo of her broken dream. The dream about the man she cherished and loved more than anyone in the world, the man who had so much good and tragic things of his own associated with this town.

A small light object fell under her feel. The first symbol of the approaching fall. Alex picked up the yellowing leaf and gently smoothed it down on the palm of her hand. Life is inevitability. The sleepy winter is replaced by the hopeful spring and the bright summer burns in the bonfires of the beautiful sad fall. Everything is good in its season, everyone has their own story and their own path. William made it clear to her today and she heard him. Let it be so if he thinks this is how it should be, this is his choice. She will try to build a life of her own without him, she will hide her pain with this leaf between the pages of the manuscript that she’ll never open again…

 

***

Take a couple of steps in her direction… Just a couple of excruciatingly difficult steps. Catch her on the doorstep, turn her around to face him, hold her tight… kiss the tears of despair off the sweet face…

Many times since that rainy Saturday afternoon had William played back their conversation in his head, the last bitter words she had hurled at him with such utter hopelessness. He imagined stopping Alex — he could have stopped her… But the minutes of remorse gave way to the deeply ingrained sarcasm. _You have indulged yourself once already and followed your desires blindly, selfishly, like a child, without giving a thought to the consequences, to Alex’s life… And you cowardly let her come here, knowing how it would end…_

 _But you love your obsession and your freedom so much more_ … Well, let her think that. It’s better this way, it’s easier, for both of them. He paced his small living room in the deafening silence of the house that seemed so empty and devoid of life now.

But the work was waiting, and William plunged into the long-gone world again. The sincerity, the roaring sensual force breathing from every line of the poems in the papyrus from Isetnofret’s tomb shocked him.

 

 _When I see her, then I am well._  
_If she opens her eye,_  
_my body is young again._  
_If she speaks, then I am strong again_  
_When I embrace her,_  
_she drives evil away from me._  
  
_If only I were her Nubian maid, her attendant in secret!_  
_I would be the one who brings her a bowl of mandragoras._  
_She would give pleasure to me while it is in her hand;_  
_She would allow me to see the beauty of her body!_  
  
_If only I were the laundryman of her linen garment even for one month!_  
_I would be strengthened by grasping the clothes that touch her body._  
_I would be the one who washed out the moringa oils that are in her kerchief;_  
_I would rub my body with her cast-off garments!_  
  
_If only I were her little seal-ring, the keeper of her finger!_  
_I would see her each and every day._  
_I would be the one who stole her heart! **[1]**_

 

For a moment, reading these lines, he felt close to the man who had written them thousands of years ago. He suddenly remembered the emotions that had coursed through him when he had unexpectedly and inexplicably easily read the text on one of the walls of the opened tomb. The feelings of the unknown poet mystically intertwined with his own. Only a person who had known true love and passion and suffered from parting with their beloved could express them so eloquently, so profoundly…

His heart started racing, pulse pounding in his temples, palms wet with perspiration. The things she told him… Everything she told him, the story she learned from some secret sources… Is there anything else, some artefact, some manuscript he ignored but she found among the things handed over to the Museum of Cairo?! Oh, what does it matter in the end! The theory of Queen Isetnofret’s liaison with her father’s grand vizier, of their unhappy love sounds like nothing more than a legend, just a beautiful sad tale… but… that name… Athiri.

He spent those summer months after his return from Egypt hoping that he was close. His experience told him that the key to the last papyrus was most likely a certain word. Perhaps the answer lay in the tomb but he could not examine it at the moment. His own powerlessness made William furious. This was the reason he still hadn’t published the already translated texts or written a single article or given a single interview. As a matter of fact, he had long abandoned the deciphering and only waited patiently for the negotiations with the Egyptians to resume.

Alex mentioned the vizier’s name a few times. Mhotep. The author of the love poem didn’t put his name in the text, hiding behind the beautiful metaphors. William picked up a pencil and scribbled several possible hieroglyphic versions of the vizier’s name. Something about the hieroglyphs seemed familiar. Versions of the cipher to the last papyrus that he had drawn so many times were lining up in his head.

For the first time in a few weeks, he took a fat folder out of his drawer, pulled the scrap of paper on which he had just been drawing the ancient symbols closer and got to work, feeling the familiar harsh, intoxicating anticipation of the long-hoped for discovery.

 

 _Death is before me today_  
_Like a sick man's recovery,_  
_Like going outdoors after confinement._  
  
_Death is before me today_  
_Like the fragrance of myrrh,_  
_Like sitting under sail on breeze day._  
  
_Death is before me today_  
_Like the fragrance of lotus,_  
_Like sitting on the shore of drunkenness._  
  
_Death is before me today_  
_Like a well-trodden way,_  
_Like a man's coming home from warfare._  
  
_Death is before me today_  
_Like the clearing of the sky,_  
_As when as man discovers what he ignored._  
  
_Death is before me today_  
_Like a man's longing to see his home_  
_When he has spent many years in captivity. **[2]**_

 

William reread the translation and froze, stunned by these words from the last writing of the Queen of Egypt departing for eternity with such joy. Alexandra’s story was true after all. Mhotep’s name in almost every hieroglyph changed the meaning of the writing, becoming the key to the cipher.

This name alone could open the meaning of the last papyrus drawn by Isetnofret herself. She waited her whole life to reunite with the man who had passed away long before her. The wait had taken form as the beautiful sad poems that found their first and so far only reader millennia later.

Why did it take him so long to let himself believe in Alex’s theory! Old arrogant fool! He always hated those who thought of themselves as the center of the universe after achieving something in science and ignored the ideas of younger and less experienced colleagues.

He raised his head to look into the window. The dawn was already rising. William almost didn’t feel tired after the sleepless busy night, as was always the case when he was eager to get to the truth. Still, he needed a break, at least a couple of hours of sleep, a shower, a cup of hot coffee. The second part of the papyrus was to give him the answers to all his questions: had the almighty queen really wished to leave her tomb empty and where was she really buried?

William forced himself to put the photographs of the text aside and dropped his heavy head on the folded arms. Sleep overcame him instantaneously. The night had been too intense, too many things had been uncovered. He drifted in the drowsy haze between sleep and awake for an hour or an hour and a half, so a phone call easily jerked him out of this state.

Daisy’s voice sounded somewhat ephemeral in the silence that surrounded him.

“Have you read the Friday _Times_?” she said matter-of-factly.

“I haven’t. Why? Has the third World War finally broken out or have we been attacked by aliens?” he rasped sleepily.

“Maybe you should take a look in the Personal column…” Will wanted to say something but Daisy was oddly concise today — there were short beeps on the other end of the line.

He reluctantly put on his jacket and walked outside to check his battered mailbox for the first time in a week.  He received news on the negotiations with the Egyptians by official channels and from Daisy but personal correspondence and newspapers were delivered to his home address.

The air was already filled with the chilly breath of the early fall, of the nature’s melancholic decay. But the small Melbourn was magically transformed every fall, lazily preparing for a long winter slumber, making tourists admire its postcard views with bright fall foliage on the background.

Will took out two papers, an advertising brochure and two thin envelopes and strode back into the house, wondering what had made Daisy call him at this ungodly hour and risk getting an earful.

He ignored the front page full of screaming headlines and opened the last pages with the sports and society news. He could hardly remember the last time he had looked there.

A brief simple text in a plain frame said:

__

  
  

[1] This one is a compilation. The first six lines are a fragment of Stanza Seven of “The Great Dispenser of Pleasure” (or “The Great Leisure”) cycle of poems, which is part of the [Chester Beatty I Papyrus](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chester_Beatty_Papyri). The rest is from Seven Wishes (part of Cairo Love Songs). Both translations, if the mighty Internets and the heat haven’t completely melted my brain, are by Michael V. Fox.

[2] From _The Dispute between a Man and His Ba_ , translation by Miriam Lichtheim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just in case, should the picture with the engagement announcement disappear into the void of the Internet someday, here is the text:
> 
> The engagement is announced between Alexandra Victoria Louisa Kent, daughter of George and Victoria Kent of London, and Albert Edward Coburg, son of Edward Ernst and Elizabeth Coburg, of Gotha, Germany.


	17. Immortality. Part 8

“I think it will be much more elegant this way, Miss Kent,” the voice of the elderly woman working on her wedding dress made Alex resurface from her bleak thoughts. One of the most experienced and expensive tailors in London, who had been involved in the making of Princess Margaret’s wedding gown in 1960, came in today for the final fitting.

“Yes. This does look a lot better, thank you,” said Alex, barely sparing a glance at her reflection in the massive standing mirror.

Nell and Harry stared at the magnificent shimmering satin fabric with fascination, dying to try on their own outfits — the bridesmaids’ dresses needed fitting as well. But useless were their attempts to entertain and distract Alex with stories of the recent _wild_ party that she paid for but _had the nerve not to attend at the last minute_. What kind of a bachelorette party is that without the lady of the hour? The _happy bride_ just smiled tautly in response to the endless flow of her girlfriends’ jokes and jibes.

George Kent gently cleared his throat to catch the women’s attention. He stood in the doorway with his habitual cup of coffee and morning paper.

“I was told I could take a look…” the smile slid right off his face once he saw the ivory sheath dress that stopped well short of the bride’s knees. He had seen such outfits in fashion magazines that occasionally caught his eye but he could hardly imagine his own daughter wearing anything like this on the day of her wedding. George wanted to make a couple of polite comments but came to his senses just in time. He could read the tension coming off Alex in the past few days too well and he had been praying for this marriage to finally happen for far too long.

“Oh, splendid,” he dropped dryly and hurried out of the room with a sigh. Alexandra understood his reaction without him having to elaborate and turned back to the mirror so that Mrs. Fletcher could finish.

However, five minutes later, they heard a car approaching the house.

The ever curious Nell saw through the window who the unexpected guest was and grinned — she definitely liked her best friend’s tall blue-eyed fiancé.

Albert’s visits to her father became more frequent in the last days before the wedding but Alexandra made little of it. Her fiancé probably had a lot of important and urgent matters to deal with concerning their future together and today was not an exception. But then came the sound of his footsteps on the staircase. Nell had barely made it to the door and closed it when they heard an insistent knock. Nell let out a dramatic sigh, looked back at her friends and cracked the door open to say in a mock stern voice, “You can’t see Alex, Mr. Coburg, not even a peek! She’s trying on the dress.”

“Actually, that’s what I came for!” unabashed, Albert opened the door wide and gently but firmly moved Nell out of his way.

Albert’s face remained impassive even at this moment. Staring at him in amazement, Harriet thought that the nickname they had given them when they had first seen him with Alex was spot on. A clockwork prince indeed. So cold and so arrogant sometimes but so handsome, like a Disney prince — how do you _not_ fall for someone like him?

Albert marched into the room and nodded, greeting the ladies, ignoring the long faces of the tailor and her assistant — the latter froze with the veil in her hands. Harriet, who had been flipping through a fashion magazine, jumped out of her chair and, together with Mrs. Fletcher, whose massive figure was an asset in this endeavor, tried to shield Alex from the bridegroom’s eyes. But Alex showed no shock or concern about this rude intrusion and just came out from behind their backs.

“Can I take a look at you?” Albert asked loudly, as if her answer could make a difference at this point.

“No, sir, it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her wedding dress before the wedding,” the tailor exclaimed through the outraged cries of the bridesmaids.

Albert rolled his eyes and cleared his throat meaningfully.

“Ladies, could we stop this circus? All these ancient superstitions? I have no intention of changing your beliefs but Alex and I are modern people and we prefer a realistic outlook, don’t we, darling?” he fixed his future wife with an intent stare.

“It’s fine,” she said, turning to her girlfriends and Mrs. Fletcher, “I have no secrets from him, and the dress… is just a dress.”

He stood silent for a while, examining his bride with a look of utmost concentration. Alexandra had long accepted that Albert controlled all wedding preparations with his usual meticulousness. She should not have hoped that he’d miss today’s fitting and, deep down, she actually hadn’t.

“Very modern and stylish, in my opinion, but the length… It should be at least knee long. Elegant classics is always in fashion, don’t you think? Can you fix it by Saturday?” he said, now addressing only the tailor, as if Alex wouldn’t care about any of it. “And another thing… I believe this will complement the outfit perfectly.”

Before Alex could object, he took a small velvet case out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket and opened it, demonstrating a delicate antique brooch with a large sapphire. Harriet and Nell thawed when they saw the contents of the case. They clearly appreciated Albert’s businesslike yet somewhat sentimental approach. Alex’s quiet “thanks” drowned in their excited chatter. She had no doubt that once Albert left she would have to listen to them gasp about how lucky she was to have such a caring and thoughtful fiancé.

Well, alright, she could let Albert stick his nose in this matter too, although it was purely women’s domain, but she would demand some concessions in return.

“Can I have a word with you?” she said softly, lowering her voice a little.

They went into the next room. Albert was beaming, satisfied with himself and with the impression he had made on the girls. He reached for her lips when the door closed behind them but Alex didn’t indulge him.

“Has something happened?” he looked alarmed, not realizing that he had been way out of line.

“I didn’t think you’d come to see the dress too.”

“It’s an important part of the event. I didn’t want to put any pressure on you in this. But the photos will be in the papers, and you know it, Alex. Everything has to be perfect!”

“Yes, I agree, it’s so great that you have taken care of everything… But I have the right to expect some understanding on your part in certain matters as well.”

“What matters are those?”

“We’ll have to postpone the florist tomorrow, I have a business appointment.”

“Alex, you are getting married the day after tomorrow, the wedding has to be perfect and…” Albert was about to plunge headfirst into a persuasive monologue about their duty to hold up the family traditions and maintain the proper status and so on.

“It won’t take more than thirty minutes. Don’t worry, we can do it all,” Alex flashed a sweet smile and stood on a tiptoe to give him a peck on the nose, which crushed his resistance.

“Right. You’re disrupting all our plans again. So whom are you meeting and where?” gave up Albert. He heard her answer and nodded.

Having reassured Albert that her appointment wouldn’t completely upset their plans for the following day, Alex finally returned to the awaiting tailor and finished the fitting, while Harry and Nell continued to chirp and ask her endless questions about the ceremony. Her girlfriends had already forgotten all about back luck and omens and superstitions. Mrs. Fletcher shook her head disapprovingly. _Young people these days… where are their heads?_ As far as Mrs. Fletcher could remember, ignoring centuries-old wedding signs and beliefs never ended well.

 

 ***

Daisy had made herself comfortable at the table by the window looking out to the busy intersection. She glanced at her chunky, almost masculine wristwatch — less than five minutes left until the time.

The Italian coffee shop was filled with cozy aroma of coffee and fresh baked pastry. This tranquil oasis in the center of the bustling city was five minutes’ walk from her editor’s office, where she dropped by every so often after she had come back to London, so she was quite taken with this small establishment in Covent Garden.

Popular science articles on Egyptology in youth magazines were in much higher demand and much more profitable than academic monographs and attracted potential sponsors for expeditions. But Lamb wouldn’t be tempted — he refused outright to collaborate with popular science magazines, saying stubbornly that he was a serious scientist and not a Sunday lecturer for housewives.

Alex’s small slender figure appeared in the doorway and Daisy thought that the young woman had lost even more weight since they last saw each other. A quiet weariness lurked in her eyes, the kind you see in people recovering after a grave illness.

Alex greeted herm, smiling sincerely, and sat across from her.

After the waitress had stepped away and the discomfort of the first minutes had passed, Daisy took a sip of her strong coffee.

“I suppose congratulations are in order? I must say I was a bit shocked,” she said.

“Thank you,” Alex didn’t looked up, intent on drawing patterns in the white cloud of cream with her spoon. Daisy could hardly miss the lack of enthusiasm in her voice.

“So, Alexandra, you wanted to talk to me.”

“Yes. Well, I never thanked you for helping me meet with Wi-- Professor Lamb,” she felt lost at the sound of his name, even if it were her lips that said it. “I gave him my manuscript for review.”

“Don’t mention it. I did it because I sincerely wanted to help you with it. You were great and William appreciates the work you’ve done. Of course, as his old friend and colleague, I can’t help feeling sad that he couldn’t or didn’t want to understand the most important thing…”

“Too bad your troubles were for nothing…” Alex did suspect that Daisy knew what hidden motives had made her seek William out. Daisy probably knew everything about their brief affair at the camp and how it had ended. She didn’t have to pretend with this shrewd and very intelligent woman.

Daisy smiled sadly.

“Well, he’s never been particularly… malleable… And his past won’t let go of him…” Daisy tossed her head, pushing the depressing thoughts away. “Let’s not dwell on that! As we know, no one could go forward with a load of aching memories.”

“Margaret Mitchell?”

“The very same! If only we cared to follow her advice more often, how much easier our life would be... Anyway, let’s take a bite of this pretty pastry while you finally tell me the actual purpose of our date.”

Alex said nothing but reached for her designer handbag and pulled out a bulky folder.

“What is this?” Daisy rummaged in her bag for her glasses.

“No, no need to read it now,” Alex stopped her. “All my drafts, sketches, films and photographs are in there. Everything I worked on after the expedition. A lot of it wasn’t included in my article, some of this has to be revised and improved, and I want you to give it all to… him.”

“But Alex…” Daisy’s incredulous gaze traveled between the girl and the folder on the table.

“As you know, I’m getting married, and I don’t think there is room for science and research in my new life. I hope you’ll find these fragments of deciphered text useful when you resume the dig in the Valley of the Kings.”

“This is ridiculous! I always thought of you as a strong-willed ambitious young woman with modern outlook on life. The time of housewives is becoming a thing of the past, you don’t have to give up your academic career just because you’re getting married!”

“I know I don’t have to but… Science requires too many sacrifices, as I’ve recently learned myself…” Alex paused, fighting off the uninvited memories. “My mind is made up and I don’t want to question my decision anymore.”

Daisy stared at her, thinking that she had no moral right to talk her out of it — she of all people, with her failure of a personal life, with her many years’ experience in loneliness.

The chime of the doorbell got her attention. A tall young man with dark curly hair dressed in an elegant coat entered the coffee shop and, without a moment’s hesitation, headed for their table. Daisy recognized him right away. His arrival was unexpected, just as it had been that time in Egypt. Alex hadn’t mentioned that her fiancé would also join them.

Alex was clearly a little surprised herself. She accepted his greeting and the brief kiss on the cheek coldly, with a certain detachment.

“My apologies for the interruption, ladies,” the young man said with a barely noticeable German accent. “But the dean will be waiting until two, and there are traffic jams, and we also have to order flowers for the ceremony today… If you have quite finished your secret conference,” he eyed Alex’s nearly empty cup and bitten cake, “I believe it’s reasonable to hurry up, wouldn’t you agree, darling? I hope you’ll forgive us, Miss Melvin.”

Alex gave Daisy a stiff smile across the table in a weak attempt to smooth over her fiancé’s unceremonious intrusion.

 _What are you doing, poor thing?_ Daisy clearly saw that Alex had to play by the rules that were not her own and accept this _care_ from her future husband. Albert was one of those practical types, those people who never have a hesitation or doubt about anything and live by the plan. People like him don’t chase some phantom ideals, they take a rational approach to everything and look down at enthusiastic romantics like Will and Daisy. But Alex! Could this lively, gifted girl with such a striking personality, with so much inside her, be happy with this kind of man, after she throws away her own self, her dreams, her talent? Well, perhaps this is for the best, let her live a stable safe life, organizing receptions in a cozy country house, raising kids and doing charity, like a proper woman of her circle. And yet, and yet…

Albert smiled courteously at both women, took a large bill out of his wallet in a well-practiced elegant gesture, placed it on the edge of the table and moved to the rack to fetch Alex’s coat.

“You’re getting married in a few days, aren’t you?” Daisy asked in a half-whisper, concluding from the fragments of Albert’s speech that the wedding wasn’t far off.

“Yes, this Saturday, in our parish, at St. James’. Albert is supposed to head a subsidiary of his father’s company in Argentina. We decided to get married and sort out the formalities before we leave,” Alexandra answered in the same near conspiratorial whisper.

“Well, in that case, I wish you all the happiness in the world. You deserve it.”

“Thank you! Goodbye, Daisy. I wish you all the best too!”

“Do you need me to say anything to… our colleagues?”

Knowing perfectly well whom she meant, Alex thought a little.

“No, nothing. Nothing at all…” she said, somewhat perplexed, getting up from the table and walking to the tall figure of her fiancé who offered her the coat with an almost theatrical gesture.

Daisy looked down at the folder clutched in her hands — a farewell gift for the man who couldn’t find the courage to believe in his own happiness.


	18. Immortality. Part 9

Will was brooding. He flipped through the first student essays of the semester, trying to fight off the persistent thoughts that kept his focus off work. He sat in his small office, the tweed jacket wrapped around the back of the chair. Nothing was supposed to disturb the rest of these old university wall that had seen so much in their long life.

For the past month he had been busy, torn between the intense meticulous research work deciphering the last papyrus and his official professorial responsibilities as the new academic year had started at the university. The fever of the first school days, faculty meetings, department meetings, drawing up the lecture syllabus for the reopened course took a lot of his time and energy.

He would get to his den in the village at night and quickly make tea in a big porcelain mug and put on his favorite knitted jumper, and only then could he focus on the most important thing.

The third — and last — papyrus found in the tomb was completely different in content from any other ancient text he had seen before. Isetnofret mentioned some kind of curse that had taken away her happiness. He peered at the blurry photographs taken in the last days of the expedition only to sweep the old-fashioned reading glasses off his nose, exasperated with himself and the haste that resulted in the scarcity and poor quality of the material. He had been putting so much strain on his eyes in the past three months that it started affecting his eyesight, but it wasn’t for nothing. The text was getting clearer every day, making more sense, taking shape.

 

_On the day the time of mourning was over, when I shed the last tears for my beloved, I summoned accomplished mages and sorcerers of my kingdom to the palace. All were promised the Gold of Praise for the secret of lifting the dark charms of the mage from Meir. But none was willing to reveal it even under pain of death. Only one, a sorcerer from the land of Djebaut, the one who reads the stars and speaks the language of birds, gave me the answer._

**_Eternal shall be the scarab’s circle,_**  
**_Endless shall be his journey from birth to death,_**  
**_The Great Sun shall shine brightly on him but he shall know no hope._**  
**_He shall reject his love as hunter cuts branches ruthlessly to track beast in the bush._**  
**_He shall crush his happiness with his own hand languishing in pain,_**  
**_Until his path comes to an end in the Duat..._**  
**_But if he who wears the seal of the scarab_**  
**_In the northern lands where ashes fall from the sky_**  
**_Casts aside all doubt and listens to the voice of his heart alone,_**  
**_And holds out his hand to his beloved before the house of hymeneals,_**  
**_Maat shall unlock the timeless fetters at once and the curse shall vanish,_**  
**_The all-merciful Hathor shall endow them with a generous hand._**

_I am departing for Eternity with a smile, for I know that deliverance shall come as Hapi bestows his blessings on us after a drought, nourishing the banks of the Great River._

_Let my Ka be free of sorrow and look for me not in this last home — not here, in the holy valley but there, among the faithful shall I reunite with my beloved tjati._

 

The final deciphered lines confounded Will. They looked more like another puzzle than a real answer — the ancient oracle obviously had made it up to soothe the queen’s tormented heart. But it was clear to him now — this somehow proved another hypothesis of Alexandra’s. Isetnofret’s body was in her vizier’s tomb in the valley of pharaohs’ faithful servants. It was yet to be found among the many tombs that had been repeatedly robbed in ancient times or yet undiscovered by modern Egyptologists.

At this point he usually remembered his now cold tea and the remaining cookies in the jar and willed himself to move from the desk to the sofa to give some rest to his head and stiff neck. His eyes would catch the sight of the pile of books and brochures on the coffee table and the corner of the newspaper sheet under it…

Even in those supposedly happy hours when the work was done for the day, in the hours when any scientist would enjoy the fruits of their labor, the bitter reality reasserted itself, reminding him about that blasted paper with the engagement announcement that he had reread for a hundred times over the past month — probably to punish himself, to make it hurt even worse. Didn’t he deserve just that, considering the state Alex had been in leaving his house?

On the other hand, the announcement proved that Will had been right. Alexandra had chosen her path and she would probably be happy with the young ambitious heir of a big business. As for him, well, he hadn’t let his feelings get the better of him and succeeded, now he could breathe out and move on. Why was he still keeping this old Friday _Times_ instead of throwing it out with the trash and forgetting all about it? Why did he keep thinking about their last conversation, her words echoing in his memory? _I don’t want my life to be like other people’s, I only need to be with you, the rest doesn’t matter._ God Almighty, the way she was looking at him, how hopeful her face was! And what did he do? He clinically delivered a lecture, a sermon on how she should live her life.

A tapping at his office door brought him back to reality. He was not expecting anyone between lectures and the last thing he wanted was to be caught in this somber pensive mood by some compassionate colleague. But the tapping persisted.

“Will, I know you’re in there! Open up!” Daisy had a drill sergeant’s voice. Polished and perfected over the years, it could raise the dead.

He cursed internally and headed for the door. Hiding was out of the question. Unlike William, Daisy was a visiting professor and came to the university only a few times a week to give her special course of lectures. His old friend knew all his habits and tricks too well, and if she dropped by in the middle of the day, it must be something urgent.

He hoped she had news from Egypt. He didn’t have time or inclination to discuss anything else.

He opened the door and, after holding the fierce reproachful gaze for a while, moved aside to let his uninvited guest in.

“So this is how serious scientists hide from their colleagues, like schoolboys?”

“I’m just not in the mood to be sociable today and I have things to mull over in the peace and quiet of my office.”

“Did I miss something?” Nothing could escape Professor Melvin’s sharp eyes.

Will didn’t say anything but motioned for her to sit.

“Look, Daisy, I don’t want to be rude but this is not the best time for a heart-to-heart. Is there any news from the Commission?” he said after a long pause.

“Not yet — I would’ve just dialed your number. No, there’s this other thing. I wasn’t going to pry, Will,” she smiled sadly at her thoughts. “I won’t be a minute. Someone asked me to give you something.”

Daisy held out a thick dark gray folder with _April–May 1972. The Valley of the Kings. William Lamb expedition_ written on it in plain pencil.

“What’s this?”

“Alexandra’s notes, photos, deciphered text fragments. Everything she has done after the dig.”

“Wasn’t she going to use it in her thesis?” he asked in bewilderment.

“She was. And then she decided that married life was more important than science.”

“Very wise…” was all William could say, staring at the familiar scrawl of his personal… his favorite assistant in the expedition. He always thought that her handwriting was a little unruly and somewhat childlike.

“You bet! She probably had a very good teacher!” Daisy’s glare made his heart stutter. She didn’t need much time or effort to guess what arguments, what reasoning her friend had used to explain himself to Alex and push her away.

“So she’s quitting science for good.”

“I suppose. This is her farewell gift to us, old scientists who are obsessed with archaeology but never found happiness…”

William sighed and turned to the window looking out to the university courtyard, the glint in his eyes quite telling. Silence filled the room.

Daisy rose from her seat. Her first natural urge was to walk up to him and pat his shoulder but she held back and said instead, “I think I’ll go now. You take care, Will.”

“Did she ask you to tell me anything?” he asked suddenly.

“No, our girl won’t be sending any more personal greetings for you. Her wedding is this Saturday.”

“So soon? Why the rush?”

“They are flying to Argentina… Albert got a new appointment, so…”

“For how long?”

“No idea. Could be for good….” Daisy’s heart ached as she looked into the face she knew so well, every pore, every wrinkle on it, but she didn’t want to and couldn’t do otherwise. He should know everything, he should decide what to do with this.

“Thanks for finding the time to come by and do what she asked,” his voice trembled slightly, betraying his emotions. He sat still for a few more seconds, staring at the landscape outside the window, trying to compose himself. Finally, William exhaled noisily and got up. Daisy couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. She didn’t want to see those beautiful eyes brimming with pain — just like seven years ago in that hospital corridor when he had been told about his boy. 

“Don’t thank me, Will. I’m doing this because I care about you two. I wish things were different…”

The door had closed behind Daisy, but Will still stood frozen to the spot, the folder with Alex’s notes still clutched to his chest. He almost missed the start of his own lecture, so shocked, so crushed, to his own surprise, by the news of her shotgun wedding and departure.

He could hardly wait for his lectures to be over to finally be able to take a closer look at the _farewell gift._ But then he got home and just sat at his desk, tracing invisible patterns on the gray cover with his finger, for some reason hesitant to look inside. As if all his pain and bitterness could burst out once he saw the hurried uneven lines written by her hand even if they were not about him.

 

***

Inside the folder, he found a dozen decent photographs of the texts from the tomb, Alexandra’s draft translations, both hand- and typewritten, her brief daily notes from the dig… He picked up each piece of paper carefully and gently as if he wanted to feel her presence in them.

He read almost everything, admiring the extraordinary accuracy and attention to detail with which Alex worked. In addition to the notes, there was an occasional quick sketch of the elements of the frescos that had caught her eye, of the unfamiliar hieroglyphs and symbols. The sketches looked very professional — he had no idea she could draw so well. He also found his own profile outlined with a few sure strokes on some margins…

“Clever girl,” he thought, sitting in the half-light of his home study illuminated only by the desk lamp. “You would make a much more talented scientist than I ever was…” the thought filled him with unbearable pain. Now that he knew about Alex’s decision to abandon science he was starting to doubt that everything had really gone back to normal after their conversation here in Melbourn, that he had done the right thing.

“Well, there you have it! You got your wish. The mistake has been fixed, the girl came to her senses and realized what was the best for her. You should be happy!” he said to himself bitterly, but the guilt crawled over his conscience like rust, unrelenting, unyielding. He banged his first on the desk, as if the stinging in his knuckles could relieve his heartache.

William looked at the last sheet of paper in the folder. It was a drawing of a scarab, probably one of those on the tomb walls. The drawing was very simple and schematic — round body, delicate curves of the wings, short legs traditionally folded under the shell. But if you looked closer, on the beetle’s back you could make out the immortality key, ankh, formed by other lines of the drawing.

Will closed and opened Alex’s sketch several time, unable to explain why it bothered him so much, trying to figure out where this image was from and where he could have seen it before. But he didn’t find this exact version of the scarab on any of the photographs from the tomb.

Finally, he took out his own archives and searched for the right picture of the papyrus he had translated. Graceful rows of hieroglyphs with the ancient prophesy for some reason included by Isetnofret in the sacred address to one of soul’s parts, to her Ka, with the indication of the true location of her body, were followed by the symbol of the Sacred Scarab. And the lines of the wings on its back formed a discernible ankh…

Will felt blood rush to his face. He had never experienced anything like this. His fingers reached for his neck on their own, taking off the cord with the small stone that had been with him all the time and everywhere for so many years. It had never occurred to him to examine it so scrupulously. It was just a charm, an amulet that held no material or artistic value. The stone scarab was made of two halves, like a locket. He had only opened it once and found nothing of interest inside, just another schematic drawing of the scarab performed in a slightly different technique.

William felt the rational part of his mind slipping away, just like it had been in the Valley of the Kings, at the moment he had thought that the text on the tomb wall looked strangely familiar as if he had written it himself. His skepticism could not and should not accept what he was seeing with his own two eyes. Alex’s drawing, the image from the papyrus and the scarab in the amulet resting on the palm of his hand now did not just vaguely resemble each other. Any amateur without the first clue about the ancient Egyptian canon would say they were made in the same image and likeness.

Whatever it was, a skillful mystification, an invention of some devious mind or just a coincidence, William felt the hot breath of the mysterious worlds that he had always thought to be nothing more than a fairytale, a story made up by the ancient.

 _What if this is not our first life on earth?_ Alex’s words flashed in his memory. The world suddenly swam before his eyes and he felt ashamed of this weakness.

“ _…if he who wears the seal of the scarab in the northern lands where ashes fall from the sky…”_ he muttered in some kind of intoxication and finally closed Alex’s notes, barely containing the trembling in his hands.

Without looking at the clock that showed well after midnight, he picked up the receiver and dialed the familiar number.

The question was just one word.

“Where?”

“What? Will? Is that you?” muttered Daisy’s sleepy voice.

“Where’s the wedding?” his tone brook no argument.

“St. James’, Piccadilly,” said Daisy without thinking and only then woke up. “Will, you’re not going to--” but the only answer she got was the busy tone.

He replaced the receiver on the cradle, pulled on his jacket and went out into the backyard. Illuminating the path beneath his feet with a garden lamp, he quickly walked to the shed and opened the rusty gate. In the dark far corner he found the edge of the tarpaulin and jerked off the heavy cover. This was the craziest purchase Will had ever made — right after he had returned from that long expedition in the Faiyum Oasis and received a very big check. The chromed parts and body kit gleaming, a powerful American beast looked at him out of the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only two chapters left! exciting isn't it :)  
> unfortunately, i've got a bit of bad news. well, it's only bad because i was planning for the next week to be it. well, it looks like i'm not going to have the time next week (i wasn't even sure i'd be able to update today but a promise is a promise), so please don't hate me and be patient.  
> but hey, at least things are looking up, right?  
> the wait will be totally worth it :)


	19. Immortality. Part 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, i guess i was lying when i said there would be no updates this week - i didn't know i'd be that efficient :)  
> but a nice surprise is a good thing, right?

_[© Catelyn May](https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100016771998221) _

 

She just needed to go to sleep and have a good night’s rest before the stressful day. Alex knew it, just as she knew that she would not be able to close her eyes in the next few hours. At noon she would walk at her father’s arm down to the altar at St. James’s Church and become the wife of Albert Edward Coburg. The implacable tomorrow was already on its way.

Why was she plagued by doubt and fears on the eve of her meticulously planned wedding? She was supposed to be free of them by now. Yes, she was supposed to. Albert was so right, so reliable — so handsome! A perfect man for any girl, as her best friend Harry always said. And Alex, who had used to share everything with Harry, never said a word to her about her Egyptian affair. It was still too raw, too personal…

Alex turned on the nightlight on her bedside table and squinted at the alarm clock. She had no more than three and a half hours left to sleep. Morning would come and bring all the fuss while they get ready for the church, and the noisy flock of her bridesmaids, then hair and makeup, and then she would be shoved into the wedding dress that Alex no longer liked after it had been altered…

Nervous tension gripped and squeezed her temples. No, that won’t do. Just clear your head and try to doze off for at least these pathetic three hours! Somewhere in the bedside table drawer she kept a pack of light sleeping pills that helped her sometimes after the expedition. Too many anxious thoughts, too much exhausting work on the texts that did not leave her in peace even at night.

Alex’s hand rummaged in the depth of the drawer and suddenly touched a smooth metal surface. She immediately recognized the small flashlight, her loyal companion in the expedition, and froze, hesitating to take it out into the light. She thought a couple of minutes but then took it out after all. The seemingly harmless object woke so many fond and painful memories. She had held it going down into the tomb with William; it had been with her as she was sneaking in the thick Egyptian twilight to William’s tent and as she was leaving it at dawn… She reflexively pushed the button but there was no light. The batteries must have run out. Sleeping pills forgotten, Alex held the flashlight to her chest, this small, now worthless object, in a childlike gesture and finally fell asleep, giving in to the overwhelming fatigue.

 

***

The wedding wreath on her head is heavier than a diamond tiara. _Why a wreath? It’s supposed to be a satin headband and the short veil Father insisted on…_ Alex barely manages to keep up the reserved and peaceful expression — there are so many faces around and she can’t recognize a single one.

 _Too early for the wedding_ , she wonders again before she begins to realize that her consciousness dissolves in the thoughts of the delicate young woman walking down the aisle of the old chapel. The feelings and emotions of the crowned bride flood into Alexandra, becoming a part of her own, those she has reluctantly accepted but hasn’t forgotten yet. Now she is this girl in the cloud of snow-white satin.

Victoria tries to focus on the ceremony but she cannot, as she sees the familiar broad shoulders in front of her. Gold-embroidered Windsor uniform always suited him better than anyone, a foil to his mature masculine beauty, turning women’s heads, waking admiration in their eyes.

Does he know, can he feel, can he guess what is going on now in her soul under the mask of a happy bride? The young blue-eyed man impatiently awaiting at the altar is not the one occupying her thoughts. Why can’t she be joyful on this day that many generations to come will remember and celebrate, why isn’t her heart full of delight and bliss? Could it be because the impossible ruinous dream still lives in it…?

She walks on, feeling the bars of the golden cage that fate has in store for the woman and the queen, closing in with each step.  

Even in these minutes she cannot chase the anxious thoughts away. Was she right to make this desperate choice, as a revenge rather than out of a deep sincere feeling towards her German cousin? Perhaps she should have waited a little while longer, to try… But would she bring herself to swallow her pride yet again? To offer herself one more time like she did on that disastrous day in the park of Brocket Hall? She does not know the answer, nor is she sure of her decision.

The posy of snowdrops trembles in the stiff fingers, she cannot breathe, the smell of frankincense and hundreds of candles becomes unbearable. _He_ turns at the altar to face her, the Sword of State steady in his hands. _He_ will be standing so close that he will see and hear everything, the archbishop’s every question and the couple’s every answer and every word of their wedding vows… She takes her place beside the visibly nervous Albert in his splendid scarlet uniform, but for a moment her gaze shifts to the left and brushes _his_ face. The green eyes seem impassive but there is a pulsing exquisite pain deep inside, at the very bottom of them, where only an understanding, loving heart can see it. Today he is willingly giving the love of his life to another man…

All her being wants to shout: _Why? Why are you doing this, William?!_ In her thoughts, she addresses him by his given name for the first time, casting off all titles and walls of conventionality, for they are irrelevant now. _You do love me! Your eyes cannot lie. Your stories, your excuses invented to push me away are all lies, every word of them. Why aren’t you breaking this terrible spell? Hold out your hand and I will go with you, while I am still free of vows, before it’s too late to change everything. The sky may shudder, thousands of curses may be hurled after us — together we can take it all, we can bear it all, we can do anything…_

She waits for something sudden, desperate, impossible, her fingers crushing the fragile stalks of the snowdrops under the silk ribbon that holds this small delicate bouquet together.

 _This is it_ , she realizes as she hears the archbishop’s question and her own composed _yes_. The vows have been said. It is done, it is over, it is decided… She notices a deep sigh and a barely noticeable sway of the sword clutched in the elegant sinewy fingers and catches a momentary shadow of hopelessness on the face she tried to capture so many times in her albums, the face she wanted to kiss so desperately…

She turns to her new husband, meeting his slightly embarrassed but excited gaze. Well, God’s will be done. Albert is now her fate and her hope, from now on he shall be her angel, her beloved, her rock. She shall be sure to believe it and she shall make others believe it too! She shall try to be happy, she shall do her duty as a woman and as the Queen.

As for Lord M… she needs to talk to him today, on this very day. She had to see him once again before their departure for Windsor, before _it all happens_ between her and Albert.

To tell _him_ that he was not entirely right — she is not giving her heart without hesitation. To tell _him_ that she shall never forget…

A terrible yearning drips into her heart, filling it to the brims, and tears are close, so close, and she wants to gasp for air. Walking in a solemn procession arm in arm with her husband, she looks around with fear — the noble audience has probably noticed the state she is in! But every face greeting the young couple smiles in adoration. She wants to go, to run away from here, she wants it all to be over, she wants to be finally left alone!

Alex dove out of the odd heavy dream in a jerk, gasping, panting, her mouth opening and closing convulsively, like a fish taken out of the aquarium by the hand of a naughty child. For a few moments, she continued a silent dialog with someone invisible and unreachable, trying to explain something, struggling to negotiate the elusive edge of sleep. Finally, she shook off the wobbling vision. She got out of bed, walked to the window on trembling legs and drew the curtain back. The dawn was rising. There was a drizzle of the usual gray London rain, one of those that always find this city at this time of year. But the rain was particularly quiet today, softly tapping out the notes of a long-forgotten sad melody. Without thinking, Alex dragged the tip of her index finger across the slightly steamy glass, making a crooked circle. Another vision, another piece of the jigsaw puzzle, and everything fell into place. It’s happening again, it all repeats itself, it all comes full circle, a cursed, vicious, blasted circle! Will she and William be its prisoners forever?

 

***

The drizzling rain that had started in the morning resumed with full force now and again and was not going to stop by noon. The Londoners it caught on the busy Piccadilly peered into the scowling October sky in bewilderment and shrugged, hiding under their umbrellas. It looked like the weather had no intention of improving for the weekend.

The guests arriving for the ceremony got out of their premium cars in front of the colossus of the old church and crossed the paved yard, hurrying to find shelter under the majestic arches.

Albert was punctual as ever, having arrived with his witness precisely at the time appointed by the dean. By the start of the ceremony, he had managed to examine all preparations with a censorious eye. “You can set your watch by him,” the groom’s father Ed Coburg said proudly, patting the hand of his anxious wife hanging on his arm and talking in a low voice to Leopold who had flown in for his nephew’s wedding from Brussels.

The sanctuary decorated with flowers and the center aisle set a solemn and somewhat sentimental tone. It was extravagant, if you asked the German businessman, but there was nothing he wouldn’t do for his only son and heir. However, Ed knew better than worry about Albert’s future. The boy kept his head even in the face of such an important and exciting event. Aside from the traditional ring, the groom and the Coburgs’ family lawyer had brought the final agreed version of the marriage contract.

God alone knows how patient and collected George Kent had to be to come to an acceptable agreement with the Coburgs. But the union was too desired by both parties, and it was Alex’s fault it had nearly failed. Ed dropped a not so subtle hint to his old Oxford mate and business partner that Albert knew why the engagement had been broken off. The old German fox had made his own inquiries about the infamous professor, whose scandalous past still hung over Cambridge’s reputation like a dark cloud. “And despite everything Alexandra has done, my boy still has feelings for her and expects their marriage to be a happy one,” stressed Coburg, sipping fine brandy in George Kent’s study.

In these circumstances, the latter had to make some concessions, increasing the amount of the dowry and curbing his ambitions concerning their future collaboration. He had to marry Alex off as soon as possible — before she embarked upon another adventure, while her youthful enthusiasm was subdued by the failed indiscreet love affair and her heart needed comforting.

 

***

How could he wish for a better match for his beloved daughter than Albert Coburg? A young promising businessmen with a great business acumen, the heir of his father and uncle, with an excellent English education and impeccable manners. Years ago, when they had met Edward’s son for the first time, as they watched Albert and Alex, two blond curly-haired blue-eyed angels playing on the lawn of their country house, George’s late wife kept saying that they were born for each other. How he wished she could see her dream come true today...

George pondered on that while he waited in the drawing room, glancing at the clock on the wall, for Alexandra to finally come down in her wedding dress so that they could go to the church. Of course, he had imagined her in a slightly different, a more traditional and dignified outfit but what could he do? After all, it was the seventies... O tempora, o mores!

A small delicate figure in the ivory satin sheath dress that, thanks to Albert, at least reached her knees, emerged at the top of the stairs. The short veil and the updo completed the image, although George had had to use his persuasion skills at full capacity to talk her into it. For what it was worth, Alex looked gorgeous, as a beautiful bride from the pages of society columns should.

He had taken care of the press well in advance, and two or three reporters from major London publications were invited to the ceremony, in return for an appropriate remuneration.

Alex’s face was slightly pale, and the skillful makeup only accentuated her natural beauty. Still, George’s observant gaze could not help noticing his daughter’s eyes were a little tired and puffy, a sure sign of the sleepless night before the most important day in her life.

With a subtle movement of his hand, he adjusted the pearl necklace around her neck, his own wedding present, and stood still for a moment, looking his darling girl over from head to toe with loving eyes.

“Ready?” he said, still hardly daring to believe that the long-anticipated day had come after all, and smiled at her encouragingly.

“Yes, Daddy. Quite ready, I think!” she said simply and took his arm cheerfully. And yet George Kent did not feel an ounce of sincere joy in her voice. Well, at least there were no curious eyes around them — the bridesmaids would be waiting at the church.

 _Must be nerves_ , he reassured himself quickly and covered her cool hand with his palm in a soothing gesture. The butler opened a gigantic black umbrella over their heads in one well-practiced motion on the wet porch and walked them to the car.


	20. Immortality. Part 11

_[© Catelyn May](https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100016771998221) _

 

The spot in front of the church was already crowded: last-minute guests, bridesmaids, reporters and onlookers. Events like a wedding between the heirs of two families holding such important positions in the world of business and politics could not be overlooked by tabloids and London’s Establishment.

The dean paced nervously behind the massive doors. The bridesmaids in light pale lilac dresses stood outside, bravely facing the gusts of the chilly wind — everybody wanted to see Alexandra’s arrival.

In the general commotion nobody noticed a powerful Hog pulling up at the fence of St. James’s and its driver taking off the helmet and resolutely heading for the church entrance. His frayed leather jacket and mud-spattered boots were in stark contrast to the pompous audience waiting for the heroes of the hour by the high porch.

With the amount of people wishing to see the wedding, nobody said a word to Will as he stood apart from the rest. He felt cold to the bone despite the thick leather — the morning dampness, the rain and the chilly wind were his companions almost the entire way from Melbourn. Apparently he had completely lost his mind and it was time to dig out the business card of that psychoanalyst his ex-wife had been seeing. But today he didn’t care. It was the fastest and the most convenient way to reach the destination avoiding the crawl of London traffic jams. Neither he nor Daisy knew the exact time of the wedding and the wonder beast flew dangerously close to the speed limit, because Will was afraid he wouldn’t make it in time.

He sighed with relief at the sight of the excited awaiting crowd. The bride’s car was to appear any minute now, he just needed to get closer to the scene without attracting attention to himself.

Just to see her… just to catch her eye, if only for a second… He needed that precious second today, he needed it so much!

From somewhere to their left came the rumble of an approaching car, and everyone around Will sprang into action. Reporters scurried around, clicking their cameras, trying to get the juiciest shot.

Alex got out of the black car, glanced absently at the impatient crowd and forced a smile. Her father held out his hand and they headed for the porch together. She strode, looking at her feet, carefully avoiding the puddles and mentally preparing herself for what waited ahead. She has to be brave, she has to carry this cross with patience, to fulfil her duty as a grateful daughter and heir to one of the largest fortunes in the country. And happiness… well, it will come, maybe later, maybe not very soon, but it will come. It will! She will make herself happy and she will believe it and she will get everyone believe too. Her soul has gone through this many times and this life will be no exception…

She couldn’t focus because of the clicking cameras and the cheering voices. Alex did her best to keep her smile on, tightening her grip on the bride’s bouquet. She walked slowly, as if she couldn’t bring herself to part company with the unfriendly October wind that kept trying to tear off her veil.

Five more steps… she gulped nervously and looked up, as though sensing something.

A tall middle-aged man suddenly stepped out of the crowd towards her. The ever-observant Nell nearly shoved her elbow into Harriet’s ribcage as the latter was making eyes at a young mustached relative of the groom’s. Nell had never seen this handsome green-eyed stranger but something about him made her heart jump. He definitely knew the bride.

Alex heard her father’s worried voice coming as through from beyond the edge of consciousness. Everything around her lost color and meaning. Will Lamb, so out of place here, looked directly at her, not hiding his emotions, not averting his eyes filled with joy and pain. His lips moved, saying her name almost silently, and he opened his hand and held it out to her. Just two steps and she would feel the soothing familiar warmth of his hand…

Suddenly Alex realized she couldn’t take a single breath, a nervous spasm squeezing her throat. How many times, how many days and nights filled with hopeless bitterness she imagined this moment, clinging to empty fantasies to find the strength to live! And here he is. He has come for her! He has stepped over his principles and other people’s prejudice with such desperate courage. Now he knows, now he believes her, she can see it in his eyes! But why only now? Why so late? Why did he have to reject her so stubbornly and leave her to live with his rejection for so long, hiding behind some inarticulate excuses? Doesn’t he understand how much he hurt her? Doesn’t he realize that he pushed her to this marriage, made her plunge into it headlong? Just for it all to be over, just to forget, as soon as she could.

 _Why are you doing this to me, William Lamb?!_ Tears and anger and the urge to throw herself on him were fighting inside her. But the pride, the damn wounded pride chained her to her father who remained seemingly unshaken and continued to steadily lead her to the entrance.

“Are you alright?” George Kent asked his daughter again, pretending not to see the uninvited guest and trying to ignore the reporters excited by the bizarre scene.

“Yes, I’m fine,” said Alex, only half-aware of her surroundings, letting the row of the chirping bridesmaids close behind her and hide her from William’s eyes. A minute later they all disappeared inside the old church.

The scarlet carpet decorated with flowers was long like the tongue of a mythical serpent. Her future husband and his witness stood at the altar, waiting for her impatiently. The guests’ curious and admiring gazes were fixed on the bride walking on her father’s arm. George Kent dispensed slight nods to familiar faces, unhurriedly leading his daughter down the aisle to the sounds of solemn organ music. But with each step Alex saw _his_ eyes coming into focus, remorseful, pleading, full of love and tenderness carried through a thousand deaths and rebirths. Seconds became endless minutes. The vision from the dream became real. All over again… But this time _he_ won’t be standing by the altar, her sad noble knight, her eternal, impossible beloved…

The street was almost empty now; the reporters and all guests had gone inside, and the most persistent onlookers and one tardy press photographer had made themselves comfortable for the long wait. The gray shroud that only a few minutes ago had surrendered for a moment to the piercing rays of the sun was covering the surly sky again.

Will stood on the porch, unable to find the strength to move but knowing he should, as soon as possible, before he attracted unwanted attention. _What did you think would happen? Did you think she’d forget how stubborn you were, how you pushed her away and just fly into your arms, to hell with the reputation of her family and her own future? Will you ever be able to forgive yourself?_

 ** _But if he who wears the seal of the scarab_** … the lingering echo of the ancient prophesy refused to fade away, to dissolve in other emotions, and William knew now that it would haunt him for a very long time, as would his guilt and shame about the one woman that had been reborn for him in this life — again — and had been lost to him — again, this time for good.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, my darling girl, and be happy, please, oh please, just be happy, I won’t bear it otherwise!” he whispered like a prayer, before he went down the steps. He squeezed his eyes close for a moment, feeling the weight of the lead-heavy despair pressing on his heart.

Will walked up to his Harley-Davidson, still trying to wrap his mind around what had happened, and began to fumble with the helmet buckle, taking his time now that there was no reason to rush, when a sudden movement on the porch caught his eye and made him turn. He saw a delicate figure in a light-colored dress running down the steps of the church and looking around in confusion…

This was the most incredible, the most magical thing he had ever experienced in his life. The air around him seemed to be transformed, he could swear he could hear it sang, he could see it filling with light — the light of hope. If only the great gods that the ancient people worshipped so zealously exist, if there _is_ a power somewhere in imperishable worlds that guides people through endless labyrinths of immortality, let them change their fate once and for all!

Alex never thought she could run so fast in high heels, risking to break her legs, but when she found herself outside she realized she did not have much time. She even thought for a moment that he had already left and her heart froze in fear. But then she saw William Lamb’s tall figure approaching and the flagstones began disappearing under her feet.

He quickly closed the distance between them, the one that was much longer than a few human steps, the distance as long as eternity…

In the next moment she was in his arms, pressing her face to his broad chest, hiding her quiet happy tears in the warmth of his jacket that he closed around her, shielding her from the wind.

Will looked up — a golden beam of sunlight flashed above them, cutting through the impenetrable granite of the gray sky.

“No more rain,” he said God knows why and smiled a gentle reassuring smile, kissing the salty streaks off her cheeks. Alex stood still, admiring the emerald light shining in his eyes, the eyes of a person who had found meaning and joy of life. They both knew that they had been born and died hundreds of times, repeating their fate in this world circle by circle, only to meet here.

The sands of time have swept away great kingdoms, destroyed beautiful cities and impregnable fortresses, erased names carved in stone; life is but a brief moment, fleeting and subtle like a wing of a butterfly on the edge of the immense eternity, but this time they get to spend it together.

It wasn’t a minute after Alex’s escape that the porch was filled with the witnesses and participants of the ceremony that would never take place. The feather-light wispy cloud of the veil fluttered in the hand of the bewildered father of the bride. He had grabbed at it reflexively trying to stop Alex when she turned halfway to the altar and slipped under his arm and ran for the exit as the perplexed guests gasped and buzzed in agitation.

The distinct roar of a powerful engine was slowly fading around the corner of the busy street.

The weather that day and the entire following week was surprisingly warm, calm and sunny for October.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, everyone, this is taking me forever for some reason - i just probably don't want to say goodbye  
> i mentioned that i was thinking to break the last chapter in two and this is what i'm doing, so there is an epilogue to follow. yay, the happily ever after! i hope you don't mind waiting a bit now that everything is resolved :)


	21. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, this is it, folks. the epilogue, the happily ever after for the long suffering souls that finally found each other.  
> thank you for bearing with us, for reading and commenting - we truly cherished each comment. even if you were here only for the pretty pictures, we'll take that too no problem, we're not greedy. by the way, those pretty pictures were brought to you by one of our talented authors Catelyn May, the captain of the Russian Vicbourne [Lady Disdain](ladydisdainblog.tumblr.com) and your humble translator.  
> when we made our characters suffer, we felt their pain, when we made them happy, we were on the top of the world.  
> if you felt that the story disappointed you at some point, we are sorry. not apologizing, just sorry. we think we did a good job and we believe most of you were happy with it.  
> thank you again for taking this journey through time and space with us, from ancient Egypt to Egypt and London in the 1970s (and back) and even sneaking a peek at our original couple. a story is nothing without a reader and you, all of you, took a nothing and made it more than something. take care of yourselves and see you another time in another story!
> 
>   _Catelyn May, Julia Five O'Clock and zaboraviti_

  

_[© Lady Disdain](http://ladydisdainblog.tumblr.com/) _

 

The beginning of the year 1973 turned out to be quite eventful in the world of archaeology. The Egyptian authorities, the Egyptian Antiquities Organization and the Ministry of Culture finally came to an agreement with the British and signed the paperwork allowing the latter to resume the dig in the Valley of the Kings.

William Lamb’s team returned to investigating the tomb of the now world-famous Queen Isetnofret in late January. In the two following months, they completely cleared all burial chambers, wrote out the detailed description of all found artefacts and prepared the murals for preservation.

But Will, excitement of a hunter boiling in his blood, already had plans for another dig in mind, this time in the Valley of the Faithful. Nobody could understand what motivated his urge to jump headfirst into this new adventure. Lamb steadily moved towards his goal, pushing to get the permission by the end of the field season.

In those intense, tightly scheduled days filled with meticulous work, he and Alex barely had time to be alone together. But nights belonged to them and no one else, hot and tender like the songs of the desert. And it felt like they could never get enough of each other, never stop longing to be one, their unity filling their souls and bodies with exultation known only to those destined for one another.

One night, after the work was done for the day, Alex lured Will out of the camp to take a short walk to the Great River. At this time of day they could finally get away from other people’s eyes and ears and share their thoughts with each other.

“Any news from Mr. Mohammad?”

“I’m afraid that…” William cleared his throat and gave his curious new wife a meaningful look, “…he and Daisy are going to stay in Cairo a little longer.”

Alex understood right away and spluttered with laughter, nestling closer to the familiar warmth. The chill of the approaching nightfall and the stinging desert wind were making themselves known in a progressively aggressive manner.

She and Will were genuinely happy for their colleague and friend — in a matter of weeks under the blazing Egyptian sun, the austere professor and no-nonsense manager had turned into a cheerful and carefree chirping bird with a mysterious twinkle in her eyes.

“And now, Mrs. Lamb, you’d better tell me what you really wanted to talk about when you dragged me out of the camp!” he said in a mock-stern tone, his eyes glowing with unabashed tenderness that was there every time Will held Alex in his arms — he couldn’t help it.

She kept silent for a while, appearing lost in contemplation, and then looked up, her intent, earnest gaze taking her husband slightly aback.

“It’s about the dig in the Valley of the Faithful… You know, I’ve been thinking about everything that happened to us and what was revealed to us… I don’t think we should disturb _them_.”

William listened attentively and thoughtfully, the familiar anxious crease forming between his eyebrows. He had not expected Alex, who shared his dreams of new exciting discoveries, to come to him with such an odd, surprising request.

“Am I to understand that you want me to back down, to call off the dig?”

“Exactly.”

“But we are a step away from a bombshell! You said it yourself — the story of Isetnofret and Mhotep is worthy of becoming the greatest love story that came to us from the depth of ages, like that of Akhenaten and Nefertiti. Don’t you want to finish your paper and finally get down to your thesis? That would be a perfect first step in the big science for you.”

“I am well aware of that, Will. But we both know that it’s not just another research object to us, it’s so much more than that. It’s something we cannot fit into conventional theories. We will never be able to fully explain and understand certain things… And we probably shouldn’t. We just feel them, we know they exist and this is how it will always be,” she touched his face. “Let Tjati Mhotep rest forever at the side of his beloved Athiri, Fair Isetnofret…”

Disarmed by her words and caress, he couldn’t find the words, silently pressing his lips to her small slender fingers.

“So be it,” he said after a pause. “Of course, it’s madness for us as scientists to throw away a discovery of such magnitude, but you are right. They deserve eternal peace in their golden immortality. I will tell our colleagues tomorrow that I find my calculations too loose and unreliable and that even if we dig up the entire Valley of the Faithful, we risk never finding the Great Vizier’s tomb …”

Without saying a word, Alex stood on tiptoe and gratefully pressed her mouth to his and then suddenly pulled away, took his big hand and, smiling mischievously, placed it on her belly.

“You know, my dear professor and the best husband in the world, you and I will soon have to deal with other, no less important and exciting concerns and discoveries…”

She didn’t need to elaborate. And, without saying a word — as though the tears welling up in his eyes somehow numbed his tongue — he just scooped her up in his arms, this woman of his, so small and delicate but so strong and wise. Everything in his life had led him to her.

 ** _The all-merciful Hathor **[1]** shall endow them with a generous hand_** … The words of the prophecy came back to him and William marveled again at the astonishing parallels between the ancient text and reality.

So many long lives of yearning and suffering it took him to realize that his true purpose is to be with her, to protect her and take care of her, to bring her joy and love her! Power and all the gold in the world are worth nothing if her eyes don’t shine the way they are shining now, spilling endless tenderness and quiet happiness…

The majestic sun was setting over the Valley of the Kings, its reflected light laying shimmering silver scales on the waters of the drowsy, languid Nile. The sunset resembled the wings of exotic birds dancing an intricate dance. Far away, almost beyond the line of the horizon, a mesmerized traveler could make out the subtle outline of a royal bark carrying two figures that stood on its stern into the flaming blaze. One of them was of a tall well-built man in a golden garment, and the other one, affectionately clinging to his chest, of a young woman with the symbols of royal power on her head. Perhaps it was only a mirage formed by playful stray clouds, or a working of a disturbed mind. But the couple standing on the river bank, warm in each other’s arms, knew for certain who had set out for the sun fields of the Great Ra in this dusk hour — just as they knew that true love knows no oblivion.

 

 

_[© Catelyn May](https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100016771998221) _

 

[1] Hathor, among other things, personified feminine love and motherhood and was believed to assist women in childbirth.


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